


Frat AU - Pre-Next Gen

by circadian_rythm, Feynite, LycheePit, scurvaliciousbay, SeleneLavellan



Series: Frat AU [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-16 00:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 73
Words: 196,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16943181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circadian_rythm/pseuds/circadian_rythm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LycheePit/pseuds/LycheePit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scurvaliciousbay/pseuds/scurvaliciousbay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: The post-graduation adventures of the Frat AU crew as they raise their kids.





	1. Uthvir Gets a Baby

Uthvir has cousins, on their father’s side of the family.

It is a distinction between themselves and Glory. Their mother has no siblings, and no living parents anymore, either. But though Uthvir has next to no sociable ties to their father’s end of things, somewhere out there, they have grandparents, and cousins, and cousins-of-cousins. That they actually know some things about, even. Probably they  _do_  have more relatives on their mother’s side, but if they do it’s distantly enough that they don’t know about it.

So. On their father’s side, they have cousins. This isn’t something they expect to really  _matter_  much in their life, considering they’ve never spoken to the people. But they know that their father had a sister, that his sister married someone, and had a child.

And apparently her child had a child, without really bothering with the ‘marriage’ bit. Streamlining things somewhat. Uthvir only finds out about this when they find out that their cousin is dead, though. Dead, along with his lover, with a tiny baby left behind and apparently whatever had  _led_  to said baby had been enough that their cousin’s parents had disowned him, and their shared grandparents are old and have no interest in raising an infant.

Uthvir’s… not quite sure how this leads to them coming back to their apartment after several harried days with a baby.

They do recall being very angry, though.

But obviously, not at the baby. She’s very tiny; very tiny, and vulnerable, and strapped into a backwards-facing car seat, with a little soft sunshine yellow hat on her head. Sleeping, for now. Uthvir has seen enough movies and television shows about babies to know that she will probably not sleep conveniently very often. And they will have to deal with that, now, because apparently they have become responsible  _for a child._

Who is their cousin.

Distantly.

What removal does this count as? First cousin, once removed?

They’re not calling her that.

They suppose if she’s theirs now, then…

…She can just call them ‘Uthvir’. Everyone does. It works, really.

They get out of the car, quietly, leaving the doors open until they’ve gotten the baby out with them, and then closing them as quietly as they can. She doesn’t stir much, thankfully. They have to open the trunk to get out the supplies they brought with them, and that makes her fuss a little bit more. Blinking and working her mouth, and letting out a tiny noise.

So tiny.

Because she’s a baby.

And her life depends on Uthvir.

Who is definitely not freaking out a little bit, or anything. No. They are calm. This is a rational decision, made rationally. They hold her carrier and get the bag of supplies onto their shoulder, and head up to their apartment. Carefully navigating their way into the elevator; grateful that no one else seems to really be around. The baby makes a few more noises. Tiny, squeaky noises.

Her face is very scrunched.

Is that normal?

Uthvir digs out their phone and googles ‘baby scrunch face’, and apparently it is.

They manage to get into the apartment without any disasters, at least. Glory’s coming with a crib. At some point. They’d said three o’clock… Uthvir checks the time, quarter to, so, probably they’ll be here in half an hour. They should get the baby her bottle, in case she gets hungry. Should they wake her up? No, it’s been a long couple of days, they should probably let her rest as much as she needs to. Schedules can happen when she’s bigger. Uthvir doesn’t need that much sleep, they’ll make do.

They move her onto the kitchen counter, well away from anything flammable, where they can watch her.

“Alright, baby,” they say, quietly. “I’m going to make a bottle for you. So you get fed, and all. Babies need food. Lots of food. And don’t worry about the diaper thing, I have a high threshold for disgust. Mostly. It’s just a bodily function anyway, it’s not like you can help it. Sorry about the apartment. It’s not really… I mean, it’s not  _bad_ , or anything, but we’re still getting it all sorted out, to be honest. Squish is going to bring you lots of things. And Glory. My mother’s being a little stand-offish but she’s just… it’s not your fault, anyway.”

They talk, low and slow, as they follow the directions to prepare some formula. It has a very distinctive smell. Apparently appetizing to babies. They move back to check on the baby in question a few times during the process. Make sure she’s still breathing, even though she’s not moving a lot, but she is. She’s just sleeping. The anxious bubble in their chest makes them think of how Thenvunin frets over his birds, and then they think of Thenvunin in general and their brain just  _halts._

Thenvunin.

Their boyfriend.

Who is currently in Arlathan, with his mother. And his birds. Taking a year off from things to sort out if he really wants to pursue his current life plan or switch to something a little less stressful. Uthvir hasn’t told him. They realize it all in a rush, as if they’re finally waking up from some rare, fury-induced trance. They have a baby, and they haven’t told Thenvunin.

Thenvunin did not sign up for a baby.

Uthvir will have to tell him. There is absolutely no way to keep this a secret. They consider this for several moments, as the baby naps and the formula cools, and then they pick up their phone and carefully take a picture of her. They don’t really need to search for a good angle. Even with her scrunched face she’s pretty cute, all around.

They send the picture to Thenvunin.

_This baby is pretty cute, right?_

About two seconds after they send it, they want to bang their head against the fridge. Gods, now they’re channelling  _Glory,_  of all people. This is not a good way to broach the subject. If there  _is_  a good way to broach the subject of ‘hey so I maybe kind of accidentally acquired a baby that’s liable to change the rest of my life, I mean at least the next couple decades, for certain’?

They don’t know.

Their phone buzzes.

_That baby is v v cute <3 :) :) :)_

Right. Well. Okay, so, that’s a promising start. Thenvunin thinks the baby is cute. Better than the unlikely alternative that he’d think she was disgusting or something. They suck in a deep breath.

_She’s my first cousin once removed._

…They’ll work up to this. Slowly. Gradually. Like boiling a frog.

The baby makes a noise, and Uthvir almost drops their phone. They catch it, and put it down instead, and go to look at her again. She’s waking up, it seems. Their phone buzzes but they think they should probably be paying attention to this, instead, as she blinks her eyes open, and turns her head. It takes her a few tries. She squirms around, a lot, and then looks at Uthvir.

There’s a knock at the door.

The baby bursts into tears.

“No, no,” Uthvir soothes. “It’s okay, baby. That’s probably just Glory. Don’t cry.”

The baby keeps crying.

A key scrapes in the lock. Uthvir is busy picking up the baby, to see what they can do about the crying, when Glory works their way into the apartment. Hauling a crib set and looking annoyed; though it’s probably with themselves more than Uthvir, given the tilt to their frown.

“Sorry. Did I wake her?” they ask, and then wince as the apartment door hits the wall a little too hard.

Uthvir sighs.

“No, but she wasn’t crying,” they say, and carefully shift her little body into their arms. Support the head and butt. Key support areas, they’ve gathered. The crying changes in volume and warble, and mercifully halts once they get her settled against their shoulder. So it’s… probably not a dirty diaper, then? She would keep going if she was still uncomfortable, right? They almost ask Glory, before they remember that Glory doesn’t have a clue.

Well, they crying has stopped, anyway. And it’s not like the baby is  _heavy,_  they can hold her for a while. She’s probably hungry? Maybe. They let Glory handle getting the crib set up while they go and check the temperature of the formula. When the baby starts fussing and seeming like she’s going to be upset again, they shift her carefully in their arms, and offer her the food.

And end up accidentally getting some of it on her.

Maybe a lot of it, in fact.

But she doesn’t seem to mind, actually. Once she figures out what’s going on, she’s fairly happy about it. Looking up at Uthvir as she sucks at the bottle, and blinks, and actually Uthvir’s maybe a little bit in love with her. Which is strange, because they’ve only just met a few days ago. But Glory’s always saying that Uthvir gets attached too fast.

They don’t think that’s actually true, though.

…Maybe only slightly.

Is one bottle of formula enough? They should check that. It doesn’t seem like enough, babies are growing all the time. How do they manage that without more meat in their diets? They let her finish this one bottle, anyway, and then shift her to start burping her. This is something they figured out yesterday. Uthvir grabs a towel and settles her against their shoulder again, while Glory tries to moderate their swearing as they set about assembling the crib in their bedroom.

The baby has successfully spit up, and they’ve moved to holding her on the couch, when Glory finally emerges from their illustrious task.

Their sibling looks at them for a moment.

“Mamae thinks you’re nuts,” they say.

Uthvir shrugs.

“Mamae was a year younger than me when she had you. She’s just mad because she prefers to pretend my father’s family doesn’t exist,” they reason, quietly. They baby looks at them very intently while they talk. “She’ll be fine just as soon as she can delete those associations and appreciate the cute baby on her own merits.”

“Yeah, probably,” Glory agrees. They look down at the baby in question, and then sigh and shake their head.

“When’s Thenvunin coming?” they wonder.

Uthvir shrugs, with a nonchalance that doesn’t quite work out.

“I haven’t told him yet,” they admit.

There’s a pause.

“…Holy  _shit,_  Uthvir!”

“I know, I know, okay?”

“How did you do this without consulting your damn husband?”

“He’s not my husband, he’s my boyfriend. And don’t say ‘it’s just a matter’ of time again, okay? Obviously the variables have changed a lot.”

“Yeah, now he’s probably going to want to marry you  _tomorrow.”_

Uthvir scoffs, and Fear butts in, whispering about Thenvunin yelling and leaving and rightly so, really, because they’ve just gone and made a huge commitment and somehow managed to do it without even sending him a damn e-mail.  _Aren’t you supposed to keep me from doing this shit?_

 _Baby could’ve died,_  Fear helpfully supplies, like that’s supposed to make sense.

_This is your fault, isn’t it?_

No answer. Well, that’s an answer in and of itself, they think. The baby yawns, and their brain blanks out for a few seconds of irrational fascination, and Glory sighs and goes and gets their phone of the counter. Their older sibling presents it to them rather pointedly.

“Phone him.”

“I have a plan,” they say. “I’m working up to it.”

“Fff…freckling heck, Uthvir, this is gonna be a shock no matter how you do it. So just do it, okay? Then you can get right to the point where you both  _deal with it,”_  Glory argues, glancing self-consciously at the baby. And normally Uthvir would get on them about ‘freckling heck’, but their tongue currently feels too heavy to manage it.

They hold their sibling’s gaze for a long, steady moment.

Then they sigh, and take their phone. Calling Thenvunin. They settle the baby carefully into one arm, out of reach of the phone as she makes her little grasping-hand motion at it. Glory pulls out their keys to distract her, as the phone rings a couple of times before Thenvunin answers.

“Vhenan?”

Uthvir’s heart flips.

“Hey babe,” they greet, glancing at Glory.

“Is something wrong? You never call before seven.”

A long breath escapes them.

“Sort of,” they admit. “Well. Ah. Life is full of ups and downs, you know? Sort of like when your cousin dies and orphans his baby that the rest of his family doesn’t want anything to do with, and you end up adopting her so that she doesn’t just vanish into the system’s wilderness, to be devoured by chantry systems or passed along from foster home to foster home.”

There’s a pause.

A long pause.

“…That’s not a funny joke,” Thenvunin says, faintly.

“It would be a terrible one, if it was a joke,” Uthvir agrees. “There isn’t even a punchline.”

The baby makes a noise. Uthvir’s not sure if it’s a distressed noise or an ‘ooh, shiny keys’ noise. But it prompts more silence from the other end of the line, as they check on her and try rocking her a little bit.

“I’m on my way. Don’t do anything else. I’m coming,” Thenvunin says, then, all in a rush. “I’m – do you even have baby things? Who’s there with you? Is your family helping you? Please tell me it’s not just you and a baby in an apartment full of spikes. It’s going to take me a few hours to get there. Dammit.”

“I have baby things, Thenvunin,” Uthvir says, automatically slipping into a calming tone as his rises towards panic. “Glory’s here, they’re helping. And Desire, too. The baby’s fine. She’s too little to crawl yet, so she can only get into so much trouble. Theoretically.”

A pause.

“Alright. Just – don’t, don’t panic, I’m on my way.”

“I wasn’t pa…” they trail off as the call cuts short.

Thenvunin might be panicking.

Not, they suppose, that they can blame him.

“He’s coming,” they tell Glory.

When their sibling starts humming a Fereldan wedding march, they grab a cushion and gently lob it at their head.

~

Thenvunin gets there in the middle of the night.

He texts Uthvir, rather than knocking. Which just goes to show that their boyfriend is a genius, they think, until they remember that he might not be their boyfriend for much longer. The baby’s wide awake anyway, though, in between bouts of crying and sniffling on Uthvir’s shoulder. They’ve gone through three shirts because she manages to produce a truly impressive amount of spit-up and snot, as it happens, and they’ve basically given up on that and are holding her, shirtless, when they open the door for Thenvunin.

Who just stares at them for several long, silent moments.

“Okay,” Thenvunin finally says, quietly. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Uthvir stares back at him.

He looks like he might have honestly  _run_  here from Tevinter. From the white spires of the only elven city in the world, through Nevarra, across the Waking Sea, and down the street. His hair is coming out of its braid and he’s wearing his old Save the Ducks sweatshirt with a bag thrown over his shoulder, smelling like the airport and sweat rather than sweet perfumes or colognes. And he’s the one that Uthvir has surprised with a baby, like something out of an Antivan telenovela.

He’s the one saying everything is going to be okay.

“You want to hold her?” Uthvir asks.

Thenvunin’s eyes go all huge, but after a few seconds, he nods. Uthvir hands the baby over into his arms, and then pulls him inside and shuts the apartment door behind him. Thenvunin holds her in a sort of obvious daze. Careful, so very careful, supporting her head and smiling a little when she closes a tiny fist over one of his fingers.

“Hi,” he says.

Something inside of Uthvir clicks itself back into place, and they let out a long, long breath.

_Everything is going to be okay._

~

After the whole matter of ‘surprise, I have a baby!’ being sprung on Thenvunin, Uthvir basically figures he can more or less have his way until doomsday. Or at least until they stop feeling guilty about it. Whichever happens first; though, the guilt might not really last forever, considering that Thenvunin can apparently fall in love with babies faster than Adannar can fall in love with dogs.

But it’s his show, now, and Uthvir is mostly content to just go with the flow.

“We’re going back to Arlathan, this is no place for a baby,” Thenvunin decides. And while it would be valid to think he is talking about Uthvir’s apartment, which, admittedly, still needs baby-proofing, Uthvir sincerely suspects he’s talking about the whole of Ferelden.

“Okay, babe,” they agree.

“We’re not flying, planes are too stressful for babies,” Thenvunin decides. “We can drive and take a boat. I’ll rent a car.”

“I can pay for it,” Uthvir offers.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you have her college fund to think about right now,” their boyfriend counters.

Which gets Uthvir thinking about that, actually, and they leave Thenvunin with the baby for a while to go and start sorting out some more of their finances to accommodate the new long-term addition to their family. They’re a few minutes into that when Thenvunin comes in and declares that the baby needs more baby clothes, and also, what is her name?

“She doesn’t have one,” Uthvir admits. “I’ve just been calling her Baby, for now.”

Thenvunin looks aghast.

“She doesn’t  _have a name?”_  he asks, and looks down at the baby. Who has declared Thenvunin’s shoulder to be a fine place for taking naps, by all appearances.

Uthvir is inclined to agree with her on that.

“Her mother was Dalish. I think her clan has some traditional naming ceremonies or something. They didn’t get around to it, though, before… well.” They sigh, and then shrug. “I haven’t decided on anything. The adoption forms don’t need anything finalized on that front for a while, at least.”

Thenvunin looks at the baby, and his eyes get all watery.

“She’s so little. And she doesn’t have a name,” he says, softly.

Shit.

Everyone keeps  _crying._  It’s like the baby is contagious. Desire started weeping over her the other day, too. Softie. They get up from the desk and head over, resting a hand against Thenvunin’s back but that just seems to make it worse. He cuddles the baby and bites his lip, and Uthvir blurts the first solution that comes to mind.

“You can name her.”

Thenvunin stills.

The baby naps on, drooling all across his starburst shirt.

Thenvunin’s mouth opens and closes a few times in shock, and Uthvir wonders if they should retract the offer. But maybe if… well. They would say that things are going better than they’d hoped, but they’re not sure they’ve even had time to hope much, as it stands. Their boyfriend shifts, a little, and presses a soft kiss to the baby’s head.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

They lean in and give him a kiss of their own.

“Definitely,” they decide. “Leave it to me and I’ll probably be calling her ‘Baby’ until she isn’t one anymore, and won’t that make for an awkward adjustment period at her graduation?”

Thenvunin frowns a little, at that, but whatever he’s thinking remains in his head. Uthvir supposes they should get back to what they were doing. But there is something just… it’s hard to actually  _move,_  to stop leaning up against Thenvunin while the baby naps on him and he frowns and thinks and probably goes over a half dozen names that he’ll reject before he really gets going on this. They’ve seen him name birds and fictional characters. Birds tend to get named quickly, for whatever trait strikes Thenvunin the most about them.

Fictional characters take him  _ages._

They’re guessing a baby is going to take him a while, too. Though he could always surprise them, they suppose.

“I need to make a chart,” he decides, after a moment.

Uthvir snickers, and leans up to kiss his cheek.

“Whatever you want, babe.”

The actual baby makes a noise, then, and the moment comes to an end, as Thenvunin fusses nearly as much as she does, and Uthvir shows him how to change her diaper. Which prompts a conversation about how many outfits a baby needs, and how she can’t possibly be happy with that many white onesies, and other things that make Uthvir feel incongruously comforted and reassured even if they manifest in the form of complaints.

Thenvunin doesn’t say ‘this is a bad idea’.

He doesn’t say ‘have you  _lost your mind_  you don’t even know the first thing about babies’.

He doesn’t say ‘Glory and Desire are getting married, maybe they…’

He says:

“We need to go shopping.”

And Uthvir says:

“Should we take the baby? Maybe I’ll just stay here with her while you go shopping. You can take my card.”

And Thenvunin says:

“I won’t be able to tell what she likes if she’s not there.”

To which Uthvir does not say ‘she is a baby, she’ll probably just spit up on whatever you get’, because a baby is still a person, they’re fairly sure, and  _this_  baby has already started showing a preference for Thenvunin’s right shoulder over his left. So. Maybe she has a preference for hats and booties and toys and things, too. They get her into Desire’s car – on loan to Uthvir for several weeks due to This Baby Business – and Thenvunin wars with his GPS to find a specialty baby goods store that Serahlin recommended. Uthvir drives, and has to fight the urge to glance into the rearview mirror every five minutes to check on the baby.

For such a tiny person, she requires that they bring along an awful lot of stuff.

Uthvir carries the diaper bag while Thenvunin carries the baby. They need a stroller, Uthvir supposes. Or maybe one of those slings? A couple of slings? They’re probably a different size from Thenvunin. Are those things adjustable? They know there are Dalish ones. More traditional. Beautiful, warm wraps, usually covered in leafy branch designs. There was a trend even among humans to wear knock-offs back when their mother was pregnant; there’s a picture of her with Glory in one, in their sea of early photo albums. But if they’re not still ‘trendy’ then they might be harder to come by…

Though Uthvir realizes, as soon as they’re in the store, that this is a Dalish owned place.

Of course.

Serahlin does know her shit, after all.

It’s an uncommonly large store for a Dalish one. There’s a front section that’s got all of what Uthvir might expect from a baby store; clothes and strollers and cribs and a variety of contraptions for little tiny growing people. But beyond that there’s also a wide selection of more traditional goods. They see a mannequin wearing one of the wraps they’d considered, and slings designed to be safely used outdoors. Soft, fur-lined bassinets, and other things they wouldn’t really know what to do with. Thenvunin pauses, too, and glances around, and the baby’s little head tilts back a bit as she looks at the ceiling.

There are patterns on it.

Huh.

It doesn’t take long for a salesperson to find them – an incredibly cheerful young Dalish woman with branching vallaslin on her features, who enthuses over the baby and a little bit over Thenvunin, too, Uthvir thinks; not that they blame her. Somehow the baby manages to take every attractive quality the man has and amplify them by about a thousand percent.

They end up more or less just trailing after Thenvunin and Baby and Salesperson, taking stock of the whole store and the people in it, trying to figure out what everything does and what might be useful. Their saleswoman has approximately zero trouble convincing Thenvunin that they need everything the store can sell them, but after a few minutes Uthvir interjects to point out that they’re going to have to take it all with them, and they can always buy more things in Tevinter, and so maybe they should just focus on the necessities for now.

This ends up being about twelve different outfits, an ‘activity stroller’, and a few wraps.

And some toys.

Uthvir spies a tiny bluebird made out of the softest material they’ve ever touched in their life, though, in one of the handmade sections, and adds it to the basket. Thenvunin doesn’t notice until they get to the check-out, and then he glances at Uthvir – who can only shrug. It’s cute. It’s soft. The first gift they bought for Thenvunin was a bird – well, two – so… maybe it’s a tradition, now. Or something.

Maybe the baby will like birds, too.

The drive home is quiet. But in a peaceful way. They have to stop in the baby store to change her, and Uthvir feeds her, too, while Thenvunin confers on the shop’s delivery options and learns about their online branches. After that the baby drifts off, and Thenvunin starts distinctly lilting towards the passenger side window, too. Uthvir’s expecting to have to shake him awake when they get back, but he never quite nods off.

They get the baby settled again, and Uthvir suggests that they take a nap, too. It just seems pragmatic; everyone’s tired, everyone sleeps.

Thenvunin doesn’t take much convincing. The crib is in Uthvir’s room, and the air is still very quiet. It’s starting to rain outside. They both strip down and flop into bed, and Uthvir’s hand lands on Thenvunin’s stomach. They pause a moment; brushing it up and down, awash in soft, ever-so-slightly possessive feelings that they don’t quite feel up to voicing. But they’re there. Persistent, like a low rumble in the back of their mind.

Thenvunin sucks in a long breath, and lets it out again.

“Don’t try anything funny, there is a  _baby_  in the room,” he murmurs.

Uthvir grins.

“She’s asleep,” they reply.

“Uthvir.”

They trail their hand just a little bit lower.

Thenvunin looks a bit alarmed, though, and so they retract it; moving it up to pat his chest, instead, as they slump against the pillows.

“Go to sleep, then,” they say.

There’s quiet, for a moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Thenvunin asks, at last.

They’re not really expecting the question. It’d be a good tactic, if it was likely that Thenvunin planned the whole thing. But as it stands, Uthvir’s tired enough and relaxed enough that they just answer without thinking.

“I’m sorry. I should have. I just wasn’t thinking,” they admit. “Hindbrain was in charge.”

_Is that what we’re calling it now?_

Thenvunin frowns a little.

“Spirits bothering you?” he wonders.

“A little,” Uthvir allows. They pat him again. “Go to sleep, babe. You can yell at me later if you want.”

Thenvunin rolls over, and brushes a hand across their cheek.

“I don’t think I want to,” he admits, at a whisper.

Well.

That’s nice, actually.

~

The road trip is hell.

Not the kind of hell that involves actual danger, but Uthvir doesn’t recommend long driving trips with tiny babies and fretting Thenvunins. It’s stressful.

But before they set out for Arlathan, they need to get all their paperwork squared away. Which means getting the baby’s name squared away, too. Thenvunin dithers over this a lot; trying different things, and gauging her reactions to them. It’s a bit like watching him rifle through his closet, except in this case he’s dressing the baby with something she’ll probably have for the rest of her life.

Unless she changes it later, of course.

In the end, amidst all the preparation for the trip and the phone calls and finding out that Serahlin has basically informed  _everyone_  in their social circle of the situation (so at least they don’t have to do that – although privately, Uthvir would peg Adannar as the likelier blabbermouth in some cases) they don’t end up seeing the name until Thenvunin actually writes it down for them.

They blink, and then look at the baby.

“That is a lot of name for someone so small,” they say.

Thenvunin frowns.

“She’ll get bigger,” he counters.

But their throat feels very thick, and his nervousness is a little obvious.

 _Kelvallastheneras Lavellan Var’Inanenansal_.

That’s Thenvunin’s surname.

Uthvir’s family doesn’t have surnames. Their mother is Orlesian stock, hailing back from the days when elves weren’t even permitted  _first_  names, and they never felt much compulsion to borrow their father’s. When one is required, their surname is usually ‘Elvhen’, like roughly a tenth of the total elven population of the world.

So they suppose it makes sense that she would have Thenvunin’s name. It’s more that… he wants to give it to her.

“Lavellan is a very common name,” Thenvunin says. “A little more traditional than anything beginning with a ‘k’, but the other terms for ‘bird’ didn’t seem to mesh as well, and that’s always how my mother spelled it…”

_Bird Written of in Dreams._

“It’s perfect,” Uthvir decides.

Thenvunin stalls, and then colours. And then smiles, brilliantly.

They can just call her ‘Kel’ or something.


	2. The Pediatrician

Niranas Surana likes what he does and where he lives. He gets to use his Maker given gift to help children and ease the minds of parents instead of being bottled up and told that his magic is what prevents him from being a good person. 

He smiles as he inspects his appointments for the day, moving to Arlathan had been the best choice he had made in his life. Merging his private practice with a pediatric dentist was the second best decision, and his third was marrying that pediatric dentist.  

His life is good, beautiful in its simplicity. He wakes up at six, is at the office by seven, and works with lovely people and children until six, when he heads home and has dinner with his spouse. They spend the evening discussing work and watching whatever show they’ve decided on, and retire by ten each night. 

The predictability of it all is deeply comforting. 

That is, until a rather flustered looking couple comes into his office at nine on a Tuesday, holding a baby carrier. His receptionist checks her records and shakes her head, noting that they don’t have an appointment.

“Don’t worry, Dria, the Masinins canceled their nine-fifteen, I can see them now.” He says brightly, ushering the couple into the back. The man looks relieved, his shoulders dropping slightly as he quickly follows Niranas to his office. 

The couple enters the room and Niranas gestures for them to put the baby carrier on the examination bed. 

“So, My name is Doctor Niranas Surana, though you probably already knew that. And who is this adorable bundle?” He asks, making his typical eyes and face at the little baby. Eyes wide, dark hair curling up from her still solidifying ears. 

“Kelvallastheneras Lavellan Var’Inanenansal,” the man says with a pride only a parent can muster. Niranas smiles and coos at the baby again.

“That is a big name for someone so little. And you two are?” He asks. 

“I am Thenvunin Var’Inanenansal, and this my partner Uthvir Elvhen.” Niranas nods and can see the stress and worry written over the two. Classic new parent syndrome, though Uthvir appears to be handling it more deftly than Thenvunin. But then again, appearances can be deceiving.

“Alright, Thenvunin and Uthvir, it is a pleasure to meet you. Is there a particular reason you brought your child by today?” He asks. 

“No. But…her birth mother had some complications with the birth and thereafter. She wasn’t born in Arlathan and they didn’t take pertinent magical precautions, we just wanted a checkup to make sure there isn’t residual negative magical influences.” Uthvir says and Niranas sighs. Ah yes, the hospitals outside of Arlathan and Tevinter can be…woefully unprepared for a mage giving birth. Not to mention the culture of wanting to suppress magic during these things instead of actually healthily channeling it. 

“Of course, alright, little Kelvallastheneras let’s do this.”

“You can call her Kel,” Uthvir says and Niranas nods his gratitude. It is…a very beautiful name, but quite the mouthful. He begins to run some harmless tests to examine her magically, making sure to tickle her or make her smile with a toy every so often, or even have one of her parents hold her to make sure she doesn’t get scared. He asks questions when he sees fit, asking how they came to adopt her, about magical parents and discovers that Uthvir is a mage. Which is very good, Niranas thinks. It decreases the risk of them being off-put by her if it happens that she is a mage. 

He doesn’t find anything by the end, and declares her perfectly healthy. Thenvunin sags in relief and snuggles her closer just a bit. She wraps a tiny fist around some of his hair as Niranas gives them a schedule for checkups.

Little Kel is his patient now, and he likes her parents.

“How did you hear about my practice, if I may ask?” 

“We were referred here by Serahlin Mercier-Paenir,” Thenvunin says and Niranas laughs. Ah, yes, Serahlin. She contacted him about being her future child’s pediatrician a few weeks ago, such a planner that one. But it works and he bids the new parents a good day while he returns to his.

Niranas’s life changes slightly after that. Thenvunin discovers his cell-phone number somehow and calls whenever something he frets over happens.

“She hit her head and isn’t crying! Did she damage something?”

“She rolled off the changing table! I thought rolling wasn’t supposed to happen for another two months!”

“There is a strange rash on her leg! I think she’s having an allergic reaction!”

All very normal first time parents stuff, though Thenvunin seems to take his vigilance and worries to the next level. Uthvir is calmer but from their appointments and talks, is just as involved and caring for the child. Good, they balance each other. 

And then Niranas’s life, his perfectly ordered and pristine life is turned on its head.

“Hello, you’ve reached Surana Pediatric’s, I’m Dria how can I help you?” Dria answers the phone like usual while Niranas is eating his regular salad for lunch.

Suddenly Dria sits up straight and starts taking notes immediately, her face equal parts seriousness and panic.

“O-of course! We will work you in, definitely. 7:30 tomorrow morning? Yes, that will be perfect, we will see you then! Thank you! Have a wonderful day!” Dria hangs up the phone and lets out a long breath.

“Who was that?” 

She pauses as she finds her voice, “That was Dirthamen Evanuris calling to schedule an appointment for his twin sons, Darevas and Felasel Evanuris.” Her face is sheet white and Niranas just about chokes on his salad.

“What? I-I thought the Evanuris had their own private army of doctors.”

Dria shakes her head, “He said that he was referred to you by Thenvunin and Uthvir. It appears that they’re friends.” She looks like she’s about to be sick and Niranas can’t blame her.

An Evanuris is coming to his practice. Niranas is going to be responsible for the well-being of not just one Evanuris baby but  _two_.

He runs into his bathroom and promptly empties his stomach.

The next day comes in quiet anxiety. He’s wearing his nicest suit and can’t help but keep adjusting his bow-tie. Long ties don’t work well for pediatricians, the children always end up tugging on them. He got a haircut yesterday and even made sure to have his eyebrows threaded. 

The elevator dings and opens to reveal a handsome man and a strikingly beautiful tall woman standing, each holding a baby carrier. He doesn’t know if she’s his wife. What does he call her? Is she the mother of the children? What does he call her so as not to insult them? He cannot insult them, that would be the end of him. He’ll have to shut the practice down, move to some backwards magical intolerant town in Ferelden and never be seen again.

He swallows thickly. He can do this, he is hired to be good with their children and he is good with children. Very good with children. Better with children than with adults, which is why he decided to go into pediatrics but if he’s no good with adults he’ll accidentally insult Dirthamen Evanuris and his indeterminate female partner and he  _cannot do that_.

Niranas smiles at them and personally greets them.

“Good morning, and welcome to my practice. I-it is a great pleasure to serve you, I mean help your children, examine them, yes. I’m good with children.” He smiles nervously and the Evanuris blinks before nodding. The woman smiles and reaches out, patting his arm.

“It’s okay, you can calm down, we’re just here to get the boys check-ups.” 

“Thenvunin and Uthvir said you are very good with their daughter and you are a mage and that you are familiar with magical energies affecting children. We wish to make sure our children are healthy.” Dirthamen says and Niranas nods nervously before guiding them into his office. Yes, yes, of course, there isn’t anything to be nervous about.

One of the babies starts crying and fussing. Niranas turns to see the slightly smaller twin twisting in his car seat while his brother looks on, curious. They move quickly into the examination room and the woman sets to removing the fussing baby out of his seat. She carefully pulls him into her arms and begins to coo and rock him into complacency.

“This is Felasel, I think he’s just sensitive,” the woman says and Niranas nods.

“Some children are like that, just very in tune with other people. And if he is Felasel, that would mean that this curious fellow is Darevas. Hello, little one.” Niranas says, deciding to begin with Darevas. Dirthamen moves to remove his son from the carrier and helps unnecessarily with holding him.

“Alright, here we go.” And the examination begins. Overall, Darevas, Niranas discovers, likes to grab things. And to pull on said grabbed things. Thankfully, he is still very small and not very strong. But, the twins suffer from some malnutrition and will need to be monitored for growth for a while. He recommends a specific formula for them that will help.

“Also, there was recently a study done showing that elves and humans have different metabolism processing for protein and that elves overall need slightly more protein, especially young ones. So make sure to get formula that is labeled for elven babies. It may be slightly more expensive, but it will help muscle and brain growth, so it is important,” he says, falling into his normal speech about the protein.

“Cost is not an issue.” Dirthamen says, taking Felasel from Niranas unprompted. He seems particularly protective of his babies, which is good, Niranas thinks. He isn’t what Niranas was expecting for an Evanuris, but that just makes him suspect that the rest of his family  _is_  what Niranas fears. And that would explain Dirthamen’s desire to come here instead of going to his family. 

“I’m Selene, by the way, I don’t think I got around to introducing myself.” The woman says and Niranas blushes. Dammit, he knew he was forgetting something!

“Oh, I am so sorry! Yes, it is lovely to meet you Selene, and you as well Dirthamen. I’m Niranas Surana.”

“You are very good with our children, I would like to have you as their primary physician, is this acceptable for you?” Dirthamen says as Selene straps the babies back into their carriers.

“Thank you, and yes, that works perfectly well. In fact I was hoping to get you back here in two weeks to monitor the malnutrition. Here, you should have my cell phone number in case something goes wrong. I do house calls on the weekends and Friday afternoons usually, but if you would prefer something during the week, I am amenable to that,” Niranas writes down his number and hands it to Dirthamen who nods and puts it carefully into his wallet along with a business card. 

“That is acceptable. We will call if anything happens.” Dirthamen says and then they’re leaving with goodbyes and promises of calls and everything. 

The elevator closes and Niranas sinks into the nearest chair. He could use a good nap he thinks.

Two weeks later and the twins are recovering spectacularly from their malnutrition, but they’re a little sniffly. Niranas suggests co-bedding for a while to help them, and then refers them to some articles on co-bedding if they wish to research it for themselves. Dirthamen seems particularly glad for the information.

Life becomes slightly more regular after the twins begin to really get healthy. A new test for “potential mage-hood” arrives like it always does and Niranas begins his usual warnings to parents about it. The risks of these tests always outweigh the potential benefit of knowing, the best way to ensure safety for a potential mage child, he assures, is to create a household that views magic positively. 

He suggests plenty of educational TV programs and books to his clients, and some of them Dirthamen and Uthvir are already familiar with. The craze for the test catches in the south however and more babies are reportedly orphaned  _again_ , due to suspected magehood. 

Avatisha wants to have a baby which…sounds rather nice, Niranas thinks. They end up adopting one of the small, abandoned elven children. Being a father, he learns, is difficult, but rewarding, and he loves his child. He feels a surprising amount of aggression and hatred toward the people who abandoned the child.  _Those uneducated, bigoted - no matter_. His child is wonderful, and he loves them regardless, and as a pediatrician, he can oversee all of their health. 

They name them Nehras because they are their beautiful, joyous light. 

A month after adopting Nehras, Serahlin gives birth to a happy, healthy boy. They name him Ileth, and worry about his eyes, but Niranas assures them that heterochromia is harmless, though he may need glasses when he’s older. 

He takes off some time from his practice, opting to do more house calls so he can watch of his child and ensure they’re recovering from being in the foster system in Orlais. 

But in one of the rare events that he is at the office, a trio of people, plus a baby, barge into his office. One of them looks particularly sour at the events, but also incredibly exhausted and worn down, while the others are in a general state of excitement bordering on panic.

“I know we don’t have an appointment, but three of our friends have you as their children’s pediatrician and -

Niranas waves them back, Serahlin called an hour ago about how her friend Tasallir and his potential partners needed a pediatrician. 

But there is the slight surprise to find that the baby is a human girl. No matter, he understands human children just as well and can tend to any and all of her needs. He inspects her, finds her healthy, if a little in need of cuddling and different formula, but other than that, she’s fit as a fiddle. 

All three parents relax in relief and he sends them on their way with recommendations for several places that sell human baby clothes. 

A few months later and one of the twins gets sick. Then his brother gets sick. Then Ileth somehow gets sick. And then Kel comes down with it too. And amazingly, so does Isabela. 

How do all these people  _know_  each other? 

Years pass and he continues to tend to the children and once he and his little family is invited to one of Serahlin’s Family Dinners. And literally everyone is there, plus a few people he doesn’t know. Nehras squeals in delight and begins to run about, introducing themselves to everyone. They seem completely taken by the giant, dark elf who introduces himself as Victory. 

He picks Nehras up and spins them around. 

“Nehras! Be careful!” Niranas frets, quickly running over to his tiny child. But they’re giggling and the large man is pointedly smiling at the smaller elf next to him. 

“I am not raising a child half by myself, get out of the military and  _then_  we’ll talk,” the man spits and Victory sighs. 

“He’s right, you know, you really need to have a partner for raising a child.” Niranas says and takes his child from the man.

A week later and Nehras’s magic surfaces, and Niranas holds them tightly to himself and tells them over and over again that he loves them and their magic. He hires tutors for his child immediately and even works with them when he can, showing them how to properly channel energy, showing them funny little tricks he can do with his own magic. 

“I’m just like you, Papae!” They exclaim at one point. That night Niranas cries happily into Avatisha’s chest. His child is just like him and he will make sure they never hate their magic like he did for so long.

Another year passes and it seems another wave of children seems to hit the giant network that Niranas is beginning to suspect is actually a clan. 

Serahlin has another son, and names him Tonlen. He’s premature and has to stay in the NICU for three weeks before being released with assured observation. Niranas is asked to help Serahlin and he makes a new stop before home every day now, visiting little Tonlen to ensure he’s staying safe and healthy. 

Ana, little Isabela’s Mamae, has a little girl a few months later and names her Rissa. With a full head of black hair and already with a few freckles on her cheeks, Niranas suspects she is just about one of the cutest babies he has ever seen. And he has seen  _a lot_  of babies.

Rissa is also probably the world’s giggliest baby. She is so giggly that even Tasallir smiles at her and touches her to get her to giggle. Once again Niranas is blown away by the effects of babies on people. 

Nehras starts playing soccer but quickly stops when they discover the violin and ballet. They adore both, so Niranas reschedules himself to help support them and their passions. Avatisha is also supportive, of course, but seeing as their practice is much larger than his own, their schedule is less malleable, and he doesn’t mind it. 

When Nehras is nine years old, another baby wave begins. But this time, there is a child who is most definitely  _not_  a baby.

She is small for her age, especially for a human child, and after reading the files sent over by the orphanage, he isn’t surprised. Nutrition can be difficult to be complete in those settings. He recommends hiring a nutritionist to Victory and Aelynthi, as well as having her see a magic specific psychologist to help her learn to accept her magic. The statistics are not on her side at the moment, but the fathers understand that and are dedicated to work to make sure their daughter recovers. 

A year after Olwyn is adopted, Serahlin has a baby and surprisingly enough, so does Uthvir. He was not even aware that Uthvir could have children. No matter, that most likely simply increases the chances that their new daughter is a mage, and potentially even a shapeshifter like themselves. But Uthvir appears to be very aware of this fact and completely prepared to handle the situation if it arises. Virevas is a remarkably healthy baby, very well developed, which eases Thenvunin’s seemingly persistent worries. 

He recommends a calming tea for Thenvunin, gives him an official prescription slip and everything. 

Two years later, Nehras makes first chair in the city’s youth under fifteen orchestra. He couldn’t be more proud of his baby. 

Victory and Aelynthi also adopt another child, a little girl named Lasair, who is precious without compare. Her red hair reminds him of Nehras and he dotes upon her much to her parent’s happiness. Niranas is glad for the family, Victory out of the military, Olwyn easing in with her magic, and now a new child to help complete their little unit. 

Puberty hits all of the children in awkward little stages and big changes. Darevas’s voice changes before Felasel’s, but Felasel seems to grow just a bit faster for a bit. Isabela is the first of the girls to develop breasts while Kel is the first to menstruate. Ileth gets braces and starts noticing girls, boys, and everyone in between, but sometimes he bemoans on not being noticed at all by them. Niranas tells him not to worry, that he has plenty of time for dating and finding love when he’s older. 

High school suddenly arrives and all of the children are suddenly tall. Much to his chagrin, most of the children are now taller than him. Kel stays small, however, and he thanks her for sparing him. She snorts and rolls her eyes and tells him to wait for her sister to see if he feels spared. He nods, he is well aware of Virevas’s growth trajectory. 

Nehras begins to date, and at first it isn’t much, a movie here and a lunch there. But he walks in on them on top of a girl one day and promptly has another sexuality talk with them and takes them out shopping for condoms. 

“Why do  _I_  need condoms?” They mutter. 

“Because, if you are with someone who has a penis, they may not always have a condom - it is better to be prepared, little one.” Later, they ask for the birth control implant and Niranas is all too happy to acquiesce to their wish. 

Some of the children ask a little about birth control. Isabela in particular seems very keen on acquiring some but she doesn’t want her parents to know. He calls her insurance and provides her with a prescription that is completely covered by insurance. She has a right to privacy as his patient and he is monitoring her behavior to ensure her safety. 

Kel is amazingly educated on everything, and he has the urge to high-five her parents for it.

High school draws on, universities begin looking for the latest and greatest and they find Nehras at the orchestra. A recently created musical program by world renowned violinist Vincent Altair gives them a full scholarship to a university located in Ferelden. Niranas thought he could not be happier for his child when they made first chair - he had been wrong, and he suspects he will continue to be wrong for the rest of his life about this. 

Oh his wonderful baby, going off to college. 

The flight to Ferelden with all of their things is long and Niranas resists holding onto his baby the entire time. His baby, who is now taller than him by a few inches. 

They land, rent a car, and drive to the campus, locating their dorm quickly.

“Papae! Look at it! Isn’t it amazing?! I can’t believe it, I’m here…I’m actually here!” They squeal before wrapping their arms around him in a tight hug. Avatisha wraps their arms around them both then and Niranas loses the battle to cry. 

He kisses his baby before leaving for the hotel, finding some familiar faces in the lobby. He laughs, of course they’re all here, why wouldn’t they be? This school is all of their Alma maters, of course their children will want to go here. 

He shakes his head and marvels at it all. Amazing, he thinks, how his peaceful little life was so wonderfully altered by these people. Serahlin sees him and they’re invited to dine with everyone that night, to reminisce and dote upon the remaining children. He takes the offer readily and happily.

What a wonderful little clan he’s found himself somehow a part of.


	3. Babies and Puppies

Adannar is off delivering an expensive commission in Qarinus worth several million and the commissioner decides at last minute they want him on hand if something goes wrong at their event with the jewelry. He assures Serahlin that he assured them that nothing is going to happen to the jewelry but they’re being adamant and giving him a bonus that…well, bonuses are nice while Serahlin is still at home for the remainder of the year with Ileth. Parental leave is good in Arlathan…even better if you’re a mage, which Serahlin is not. But that doesn’t change the fact that babies are expensive. 

So Adannar is staying in Qarinus for the next few days while Serahlin is at home with the baby and the dogs. She spends most of the days curled up on the couch with her son in her arms, amazed by him. Amazed by his tiny hands and the little wisps of hair on his head, amazed by his mismatched eyes. Her son is amazing and she can’t stop looking at him. 

Tasallir comes over the first day and he sits with Serahlin and Ileth as they talk about various things. But she is distracted by her son who is so incredibly beautiful. 

She pets his head and watches as he  _yawns._

_“_ Baby talk has been found to stunt linguistic and cognitive development in children,” Tasallir says as she coos at her baby.

“This isn’t baby talk, this is just making noise. I plan to use only proper grammar with him. Right, Ileth? Only the best grammar for the best baby!” Okay, maybe Tasallir has a point, but she knows what he’s talking about and what she’s doing isn’t baby talk. She uses the correct pronouns in the correct places and the right verbs in the right places. She just…makes noises at her son because her son is the most precious creature in the entire world and deserves to be cooed at and assured of his sheer cuteness.

Tasallir watches her closely before reaching out and petting a gentle hand over Ileth’s head, his expression soft and almost contemplative as he watches his nephew. 

“When did you know you wished to have children?” He asks and she tilts her head to the side.

“I think…it was about a year after dating Adannar. I woke up one day and I knew, knew that I was going to marry him and that I was going to have his children and I was so… _happy_  at that thought.” She snuggles Ileth closer and kisses his forehead again. 

“I knew I wanted to wait until I after I became a lawyer and got set up at a firm. And then…you saw the year of trying before I finally got pregnant with this little bundle of joy.” There was a point, she remembers, right after the miscarriage that she thought she was never going to be a mother, that she had failed Adannar in this most basic of ways. He had always wanted children, he never needed to even come out and say it, it was known. She remembers their wedding and overhearing Vena asking Uthvir if they wanted to bet when Addie and Serahlin were going to making everyone uncles, aunts, and nabaes. They had rolled their eyes and promptly bet three years for fifty. 

Vena and Aelynthi had forked over the money when Ileth came into the world just a month before her and Adannar’s third anniversary. It was tasteless and crass but really, the ultimate winners in it all were Adannar and Serahlin. 

She finds it funny that Uthvir and Thenvunin ended being parents before her, in the end. And she loves that they have a precious little girl to dote and spoil, and she knows that little girl is armed with some of the most loving parents she could hope for her. Dirthamen and Selene had been a surprise but when they showed up with bundles of twins with yawning mouths and bright eyes and little folded ears. They’re all growing up and having babies who yawn and have beautiful eyes and soft little bellies. 

And Tasallir is asking her about babies. 

“Would you like to hold him?” She asks and he pauses for a moment before arranging himself so that she can slide her son into his uncle’s arms. Tasallir’s hair is down today, and he looks exceptionally beautiful as he cradles the small baby against his chest in a hold that shows just how much he’s read up on everything. He’s a good uncle, her brother. Her son is lucky to have him.

“He has your composure,” Tasallir says in a quiet voice as he frees a hand and draws the nine points of the gods onto Ileth’s face. Two for his eyes, one for his forehead, his nose, two for his cheeks, and then one for each ear. It’s an old blessing, one that babies get a lot at this age. 

“ _Ma serannas, lethallin,”_ she says and he continues to trail a soft hand over her son.

There is a long pause before she rests a hand on his arm, “You can come over whenever you wish, you are his uncle, you can be around him as much as you want. We have a spare room we can make into sort of a temporary room if you wish to stay over frequently.” He looks up from Ileth and at her, ruby red eyes contemplative as he weighs his options.

“Thank you, but I do not believe that will be necessary.” 

When he leaves later, she visits the spare room, Ileth in her arms, and goes over how to make it more to Tasallir’s liking. The color is nice, like grey rocks washed clean by the sea. the furniture all matches in a neutral hue of cream. The bedspread is blue, but she can change it to seafoam. She can switch the rug out for something nicer, something with an even pattern. She can set up a wall collage, three rows of three - pictures of the sea that is washing the walls clean. The light fixture can be changed out for a softer light, one that is kinder on the eyes. 

Serahlin leaves the room when Ileth begins to fuss for his meal and she smiles down at him. 

“I’m your memae, isn’t that amazing?” She asks, sitting on her bed and guiding him to her breast. It takes him a minute to latch on, but when he does, she feels it - the connection, the love. 

He looks like his father, she thinks. There’s something about how his ears stick out just a bit more, how his hair refuses to stay in one position for long, how even when he’s this small, he can make her feel so amazing and good. 

Thank the Creators he is like his father, that this world is blessed enough to have another person so wonderful as his father. Who gets up in the middle of the night and sings off key lullabies to him to get him back to sleep. Who offers to take the full year with Serahlin when he is done with the the last few commissions he’s received. 

And while her son is miraculous and wonderful and is so much like his father, he isn’t his father. He isn’t big and boisterous yet, and he’s certainly not her husband who can hold her at night and wake her up with kisses. 

Ileth looks up at her with his big grey and yellow eyes and she thinks he misses his father too, even if it’s only been a day. 

“Papae will be home soon,” she tells him. Something forms in her throat.

“Papae will be home soon,” she says again, voice wavering before her lips quiver and her body slumps forward around Ileth. 

It seems like her body is still hormone ridden even after pregnancy. Wonderful. 

“I’m normally very calm, your papae is the emotional one,” she tells Ileth. “He cried four times at our wedding. Twice during the ceremony, when I walked down the aisle and then when the officiant tied the knot around our hands. He cried during both Tasallir and Selene’s speeches.” Ileth sucks on her nipple and a tear slides down her cheek. 

“I only cried when we got home and I realized I was his  _wife_ , that’s when I cried, after I had wiped my face clean and he saw me in my face cream and called me his wife.” A few more tears slide down her cheeks and onto him, which strikes her as perverse. Tears shouldn’t touch him, he should never be touched by any sort of sadness or pain. She knows that he will be eventually, but…not while he’s in her arms. 

So she stops crying, just as the bed suddenly dips and bounces. Her head jerks up and she frowns as Flower walks happily across the bed, fluffy and ungroomed since Ileth’s birth. 

“Flower! Down!” She says. The dogs aren’t allowed on the bed, they get fur and slobber and dirt on the bed! But Flower ignores Serahlin’s admonishment and sallies over to her and the baby, taking care to gently bump her nose against Serahlin’s protective arm. She gives a low whine.

So maybe she isn’t the only one missing Adannar. Serahlin reaches out and threads her hands through Flower’s fur, reminded of when she’d do this back in college when Flower would jump onto Adannar’s bed to wake him up. She was still a puppy then, but Serahlin supposes she was as well. 

When she was pregnant, she read about dogs who hated the new baby, who had to be rehomed because they hated the baby. She had been scared for her child, scared that Adannar would have to lose his fur-children. But both of the dogs have only been curious and careful, sniffing at the babe and laying at the foot of his crib and bassinet. And now Flower is looking at him as he suckles at her breast. She licks his foot and Serahlin giggles as he kicks and makes the cutest baby noise. 

Baby noises have quickly become one of her favorite things. 

After Ileth is finished with his meal, Serahlin heads downstairs and heats up leftovers for herself, eating as she watches home decorating shows. After dinner, she puts Ileth to bed in his bassinet by her bed, then starts a load of laundry. She clean the kitchen, organizes Adannar’s side of the room before falling into her bed, exhausted. Before she can close her eyes to fall into a blissful sleep, Ileth begins to cry and fuss.

Cry number four. He wants attention, or more accurately, he wants his father. She groans and slides of the bed, lifting him out of his then returns to hers. She rests him against her chest and pets his hair, soothing him with gentle humming until he’s just sniffling against her. 

The bed dips and moves again and this time, Serahlin doesn’t even tell Flower to get down when she walks across the bed and lays down against Serahlin. She makes a sound of surprise, however, when Vincent jumps up and joins the party. Well, he might as well, there’s enough room while Adannar’s away. 

She settles in against the cushions and falls into a dreamless sleep. 

A hand comes over head, gently pushing against her hair. What? Who? This doesn’t make any sense….did someone break into her house? Oh her baby!

Her eyes blink open, ready to lunge up at whoever is here, but she settles quickly when warm yellow eyes greet her.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Adannar whispers.

“Mm, hi,” she replies sleepily, “what’re you doing home? Is it Sunday already?”

Adannar shakes his head and kisses her forehead, “Nah, I just bailed. I showed them how to make sure the jewelry doesn’t break and then told them I had to get home to my wife and child. I can’t stand to be away from you now.”

He glances down at the dogs and rubs Flower’s ears as she wiggles happily on the bed. 

“You let her up here, wow.”

“Yes, well, you were away and I was lonely and -

“Vhenan, it’s great, thank you,” he kisses her lips and reaches down to Ileth, removing him from her chest to pull into his. 

“Hey, little guy, it’s your papae! Yeah! Oh look at you, I think you got bigger today, good job, buddy,” he goes on softly, cooing and cuddling. Serahlin watches her husband dote on their son until he pulls the bassinet closer to the bed and places Ileth in it. 

He turns back to their bed and adjusts Serahlin and the dogs until he’s able to situate himself so that he’s pressed up against Serahlin’s back with Flower at his back and Vincent at his feet. His arm comes around her waist and she’s drifting off back into sleep when he nuzzles her neck.

“I love you, Serahlin.”

She smiles, “I love you too, Adannar.”


	4. Banana Babysits

Ileth is so very  _tiny_ in Elanna’s arms.

Ana watches as he scrunches his face and makes tiny little noises in his sleep. He’s so cute, and small. Was she ever this small? Everyone was this small once, she knows. Ana sighs and carefully deposits the baby in his crib and makes sure to bundle him up tight before joining Vena on the couch. She sinks into the cushions and rests her head against his shoulder to try and rid the thought of babies from her mind. They haven’t been married for long, and children seem… not  _impossible_  in the future _._  Perhaps they can adopt like Thenvunin and Uthvir did with Kel, and Selene and Dirthamen did with the twins. Maybe a natural birth is impossible, Ana thinks. Would her body be able to sustain a child, she wonders. She shakes her head at the thought.  _It’s too early_ , she tells herself.

“Is he still asleep?” Vena asks as he brings an arm around her and kisses her temple. Ana nods.

“Babies sleep a lot,” she informs him. “They also cry a lot, and poop a lot, and… well…” Hopefully listing the downsides of babies would quell her thoughts. It doesn’t work. All she can think about is their cute faces, and chubby cheeks, and the baby talk. She remembers the video of Felasel and Darevas speaking to each other in variations of the sound  _da da da_ that Selene put on her Instagram.

“They’re cute, though.” Vena says as she detangles herself from him to get snacks. He reaches for the TV remote then and turns it on with the volume low. Ana prepares a platter of hummus and vegetables with a little juice box Vena enjoys and brings it back. She sets it on the coffee table and he reaches for his juice box before wrapping an arm around Ana again.

It’s quiet as they watch re-runs of a sitcom that stopped airing 20 years ago. Oh, there are babies in this episode, she remembers. There are babies in  _all_  of the episodes of this sitcom, actually. Ana sighs and when Ileth starts crying, she uses it as an excuse to stop watching and gets up to tend to him. Maybe changing an actual baby’s diaper and dealing with the crying will stop her from thinking that babies are a good idea.

She leans over the crib and picks up the crying baby.  _Support the head and bottom_ , she remembers. Ana bounces the baby lightly and hums some old lullabies, tunes she never thought she would have to sing, but here she is. Her heart aches a little and she feels her eyes itch. Ileth’s crying settles and she continues to sing. She turns around to see Vena standing in the doorway, his eyes on her and the baby with a perilously undefinable glint in his eye. Ileth starts crying again and Ana shushes him, whispering assurances in elven. Does he know elven? Can he comprehend speech yet? It doesn’t matter. She thinks he needs a diaper change, though, so she asks Vena to help her with it.

She carefully lays him on the diaper changing table while Vena produces wipes and clean diapers. This must be uncomfortable for babies, she would imagine so she begins talking to Ileth softly in elven, and in common, and Orleasian. Serahlin is Orleasian, and perhaps the sounds will be familiar to him, so she keeps with it.

Her phone begins to ring from the living room and Vena assures her that he will finish up. It’s probably Serahlin calling to check in. She picks up the phone and tells Serahlin of what they’re up to and how the baby is doing.

“I left some squash in the refrigerator for when he’s hungry,” Serahlin tells her. Ana makes her way to the kitchen and checks. There is indeed mashed up squash sitting in a bowl coved by some plastic wrap. Serahlin fusses for another 15 minutes until Ana reassures her that everything is running smoothly. She ends the call and leaves her phone in the living room and makes her way to the nursery. Ileth laughs as Vena makes silly faces at him and talks.

Oh.

Oh no.

Ileth looks extra tiny in Vena’s arms. The three of them then settle on the couch and Ana brings out the squash for him to eat. Vena takes over feeling him and starts making more silly faces. Oh, babies are wonderful.

“Babies are wonderful,” she echoes. Vena smiles.

“You really think so, banana?” Ana lifts a brow at that.

“Well, of course parenthood comes with difficulties and raising a child is a… daunting prospect, but… well, maybe… it… wouldn’t be so terrible… with the right person,” she ventures. He looks at her and his smile grows.

“With the right person,” he echoes. Ana feels her cheeks color and she smiles, too.

“One day, vhenan,” she allows.


	5. Thenvunin's Job

Thenvunin’s job is a very difficult job.

The first time he thought he wanted to do it, he was young - around twelve - and he and Aelynthi sneaked into a movie that they weren’t supposed to.

It was the summer time, and Melarue’s latest movie had just been released in theatres. Aelynthi had been hurt and frustrated when his parents insisted that he was still too young to watch it. He had gotten that look in his eye, that one he always got when he felt like he was being underestimated, and a few days later he asked Thenvunin if he wanted to go to the mall - if his mother could drive them.

And Thenvunin had said yes, of course. Aelynthi managed to convince his mother that they would be alright just having lunch and going to the movies, and that he’d call his papae to come and get them before dinner time, or if Thenvunin got tired. They’d had spicy noodles in the food court, reciting jokes from the book series they were both reading, and then Aelynthi said they should get a hurry on if they were going to make the movie in time.

They bought tickets for Kung Fu Panda, which was the only kids’ movie playing. But then when they went into the theatre, Aelynthi said ‘this way’, and they turned left instead of right past the ticket booth and didn’t go into Kung Fu Panda’s theatre at all.

Thenvunin had been happy to watch one of Melarue’s movies, anyway, but he… he hadn’t liked that one.

There had been a child, in it. A little child, probably about five years younger than himself and Aelynthi, and the child’s parents did very bad things to them. Hurt them, and frightened them, and for a long time afterwards Thenvunin had a hard time shaking the movie’s images from his thoughts. Aelynthi had been quiet, after they got out of the theatre.

“I don’t think I want to watch that one again,” Thenvunin ventured.

“I’m sorry,” Aelynthi said. “I thought - I thought it would be like Jurassic Park, maybe. My parents said I couldn’t watch that one either, but it was  _fine_.” He had snapped that last bit out, frustrated and mad because it was his idea, and it had gone badly.

Thenvunin understood, of course, and it wasn’t hard to forgive him. They agreed not to say anything about it to anyone, because they didn’t want to get in trouble. Especially since they didn’t even  _like_  the movie, in the end. But Thenvunin couldn’t stop thinking about it. About someone hurting their kid like that. And he couldn’t stop thinking about the opening, either, when the dark screen had come up, and the words  _Based on a True Story_  had written themselves across it.

That meant it was true.

That meant it  _happened._

That meant that little kid was… that someone…

He’d ended up bursting into tears over his dinner, and his mother had asked him what was wrong. But he couldn’t say, because they’d agreed that they wouldn’t tell. So Thenvunin just gulped and sobbed and his mother had decided that he’d overdone it, and he let her think that, as she put him to bed early.

He couldn’t sleep, though. He just lay there thinking about it all, until he couldn’t stop himself from bursting into tears again, and then his mother came and soothed him and worried even more.

“What happened?” she asked, worried and firm, with that tone of voice that said that she  _knew_  and that if Thenvunin didn’t tell her, she would still find out.

So he told her. Even though it made him a snitch.

And when he finished she sighed.

“Please don’t tell on Aelynthi,” he asked. 

“Oh, I’m telling on Aelynthi,” she declared. “And you are not allowed to go to the theatre without me until you’re fifty, now. But I’m glad you told me, da’vhenan. I know it’s a terrible thing to see. Things like that can give adults nightmares, too.”

Thenvunin let out a shuddering, shaking breath, and she gathered him up and hugged him tight.

“But it really happened,” he whispered.

She sighed.

And then she explained to him that, yes, it did. It really happened, and it was awful; and part of the reason why Aelynthi’s nanae made that movie was because too many people prefer to pretend that things like that  _don’t_ happen, and while that makes life easier, it also makes it easier for wicked people to hide their actions. Because people don’t look for them. Don’t want to see them.

Thenvunin understood, though part of him still couldn’t reconcile the idea that the movie was anything but bad. He was glad, at least, that Aelynthi’s nanae hadn’t played one of the monster parents. He probably wouldn’t have been able to look at them for weeks if they had. As it was his mother had to spend the better part of the evening assuring him that the little actor in the film had been fine, that they’d known they were making a scary movie but that Melarue had been there and Melarue wouldn’t let anyone do anything that actually upset their young co-star.

Melarue had played the Social Services Worker. Thenvunin had, of course, been aware of the concept of child abuse before then. That there were people who’s jobs it was to go and make sure children were being properly looked after. But he’d always thought of it differently, thought if as being, like, scatter-brained parents who needed reminders, or people who had kids like him, who didn’t know how to do stuff for them. He was familiar with that; some of the parents of other kids at school said to his mother, a lot, that they weren’t sure how she ‘coped’.

A lot of people weren’t as smart as Thenvunin’s mother. It would make sense for them to have more trouble with things.

He hadn’t realized that there was a job for people to actually, really  _rescue_  children who were in danger.

That was a very heroic-seeming job, he thought. Melarue had been very kind and then very angry through the whole movie, and had certainly seemed heroic; standing up to people and asking  _where do you get off?_  and just generally being as upset over the situation as Thenvunin thought anyone should be.

The next month, when his teacher gave everyone an assignment to write about a career they were interested in, Aelynthi wrote about professional street artists, and Thenvunin wrote about social workers. His paper ended up being about three times as long, without any pictures, and he did a lot of research for it.

“I’m surprised you didn’t write about ornithologists again,” Aelynthi had noted, with a little furrow in his brow.

“That’s a  _hobby_ ,” Thenvunin informed him, and then made a face. There was something stuck in his dental braces again, which effectively ended the conversation.

The topic didn’t really come up again, anyway, until they were older. When he was fifteen, Sethtaren took him to a film festival on one of their first dates. Thenvunin was giddy, near dizzy with excitement in fact, and he spent hours and hours making sure he looked absolutely  _perfect_  before he went to pick his boyfriend up. Hoping that he would look beautiful, that he would look flawless beside him, as they made their way through his circles. Older teens and young adults, who were  _mature_ and  _cool_  and went to things like film festivals.

“You’re over-dressed,” Sethtaren told him.

“Should I go back and change? We can stop at my house again, it’s on the way…” he suggested, but his boyfriend just shook his head.

“You’re backing out? You’re the one who decided to wear that. You should be ballsy enough to own it,” he declared, making another face.

Thenvunin hesitated, locked between the risk of annoying him and seeming like a coward if he changed, or going on to the festival and being ‘over-dressed’ around his friends. After a few minutes, though, he supposed that Sethtaren’s friends’ opinions didn’t matter as much as his, and so he kept on driving past the turn-off for his house.

When they got to the festival it  _was_  pretty casual. Jeans and t-shirts and hoodies, mostly, though no one said anything to Thenvunin, except that a few of the older girls told him he looked nice.

Thenvunin wasn’t sure what all the movies were - Sethtaren had told him it didn’t really matter, the point was to go socialize - and he felt a hard knot settle into the pit of his stomach as he saw a familiar title on the list. But he couldn’t bow out. Sethtaren already thought he might be a coward for wanting to change his clothes, he didn’t want to look like he thought he might still be  _too young_  for a movie about child abuse.

So he kept quiet, and sat through the movie again.

And in the end, it wasn’t so bad, the next time around. Scenes that had felt like they’d taken centuries when he was twelve and seeing them for the first time actually went by quicker when he was older. Melarue had ended up hating the movie, too, and not just because Aelynthi and he sneaked in to see it, they said - they insisted it had come out more gratuitous than they’d intended, that there were too many cheap shocks and things like that.

On second viewing, Thenvunin could see that. Could see how the movie spent so much time focusing on the horror of what was being done, that it almost felt more like it was delighting in it rather than condemning it.

After the first movie on the list, when people had taken a break to mill around and discuss things, he’d kept quiet. But with this one, he actually felt like he had things to say. He leapt into the post-film discussions, and it was very exciting. Sethtaren’s friends debated with him about what he’d noticed. They all got even more interested when he explained that he actually knew Melarue; though a few seemed sceptical, until he took out his phone and showed a few pictures. Then a lot of them seemed to start agreeing with him, saying that gratuity was actually a big problem in the film industry these days, and comparing the approach taken to other movies. They’d even seemed interested when Thenvunin started talking about social work and what he’d learned about it.

He’d been so happy that things worked out. The third movie was a lot easier to watch by comparison, too, and by the end of the date, he’d been proud of himself. He’d talked with Sethtaren’s friends on their level; he’d  _impressed_  them, he thought.

“Gods, that was embarrassing,” Sethtaren told him, when they got into the car, afterwards.

Thenvunin’s heart sank.

“What was?” he wondered.

“You.  _You_  were embarrassing,” his boyfriend informed him. “I didn’t want to say anything in the middle of it all, but next time I take you somewhere, try not to blather on like a preschooler. I thought you said you could behave maturely? What was all that shit, waving around pictures of you and Melarue and talking over everyone else?”

Was… was that what he’d been doing?

“I was just trying to talk about the movie,” he said, suddenly humiliated. He mentally reviewed everything he’d done; what he’d said, how he’d acted. How it all might have been received. Had people been indulgent? Uncomfortable? Was he bad at reading them?

Well.

They were Sethtaren’s friends. Sethtaren’s opinion on their reactions was probably more insightful.

His boyfriend sighed at him.

“Great. And now you’re trying to guilt-trip me,” he accused. “Do you know how much tickets to this thing cost me? And I had to spend all night with an over-dressed middle-schooler, making me look like one of the bad guys in those movies.”

The drive back to Sethtaren’s place was uncomfortable, as Sethtaren glared out of the window, and Thenvunin felt like a clown in his delicately-applied make-up (too much?) and his nice clothes (too ostentatious?) and the earrings he’d borrowed from Aelynthi. By the time they’d pulled up to the house, he’d been desperate to escape the sense of failure, that he’d ruined the entire evening.

Sethtaren was more than happy to provide suggestions on how he could make the whole thing up to him.

But that dismal date still gave him something worth remembering, later on. All the conversations and concepts that had manifesting in a school paper at twelve started turning into serious ideas at fifteen. For some reason, the notion that there were terrible people in the world who would do awful, unforgivable things to children seemed a lot more immediate and threatening a concept, at the time.

His second highschool boyfriend, Isamalin, was fiery and impatient and more like Aelynthi, Thenvunin thought at first. And that seemed like a good thing, because Aelynthi was a genius at relationships, and Thenvunin always knew how to get along with him. Isamalin was even an artist, too, and was very smart. Top of his class, lonely and isolated because he could never find anyone who could keep up with him, he said.

Thenvunin couldn’t keep up with him either, which was a source of frequent frustration. Isamalin would buy Thenvunin gifts only to snatch them back and smash them when he didn’t understand the symbolism behind them. He would try and have deep and meaningful conversations with him, only to get mad when Thenvunin didn’t agree with what he was saying. He painted Thenvunin’s skin - long, elegant brush strokes, calling him a magnificent canvas - and then used the pictures he took afterwards as part of his portfolio without asking Thenvunin’s permission.

But of course, Thenvunin told himself, he’d given Isamalin permission to paint him, so…

They didn’t last long, though. His second boyfriend found his career aspirations ‘tiresome’. He was a tortured artist who saw the heart of how the system was broken, he said, and Thenvunin was just another sheep, in the end. Eventually, Isamalin met someone else, someone who was more beautiful, more intelligent, and left him.

The break-up felt like as good a sign as any that Thenvunin was… that he would be better off hoping to have a meaningful career, than to just get married, and be a stay-at-home parent, or anything like that. To find a partner who would support him, he’d need to find a partner who would love him, and wanted to stay with him.

He remembers feeling very resolute about it, the day he decided he was going to become a social worker.

The actual job, though, was…

It wasn’t like in the movies. And yet, sometimes, it was. Too much.

Immediately after graduation, he went home, and got a job working in Arlathan. It wasn’t hard to get hired, the city always seemed to be shorthanded on social workers. He brought Uthvir home with him, to meet his mother, and managed to be at his job for about a month. One of the cases he got was for a single mother down in the grey districts, who got reported by someone at the hospital for mishandling her baby.

When Thenvunin met with her, she seemed normal. Sociable. Poor, definitely, but she explained that she’d been learning more about childcare and she was maybe a little overwhelmed and hadn’t gotten the hang of things at first, but she loved her daughter and was dedicated to learning how to be a better parent.

He’d left the meeting feeling good about things, with a note for himself to look into free programs and more online resources for the woman.

By his estimations, it was about an hour after he left that she drowned her daughter, before taking her own life, too.

After that, he had to stop. He couldn’t - he kept seeing that little face, kept hearing that woman’s voice. Steady and optimistic. Had it been something he’d said, he wondered? Something he  _hadn’t_  said? She’d waited until she met with him to do it. Had she been banking on something happening in that meeting that didn’t? Some help he should have offered, but hadn’t thought to? Had there been signs? There must have been. How did he miss them? How could he do this job, if he was going to miss things like that?

He had been a wreck.

Uthvir had taken his chin between their fingers, tilting his face until he looked them in the eye.

“It was not your fault,” they had said, so firmly that it seemed like a challenge to disbelieve them. 

Even if he could have accepted that, though, it couldn’t change the fact that the woman and her baby were dead. And Thenvunin wasn’t sure he could survive doing that. Seeing that. Week after week, year after year, as the job he had chosen for the rest of his days. What if it happened again, he wondered? And then Uthvir told him it probably would, because there was only so much anyone could do to stop another person, to save another person, when everyone had their own free will.

The thought was unbearable.

But Uthvir said they should talk about it, seriously, and so they did. And after a few days they agreed that Uthvir would take a job in Ferelden, that had offered to pay well, and Thenvunin would take some space to re-evaluate things.

And then, well. A few months later there had been another baby, a little baby girl, only she was Uthvir’s, and she was just as small. Just as small, and helpless, and when Thenvunin held her he felt, inexplicably, like it was something he’d done before. Like it was something he’d been looking forward to doing again, and he hadn’t wanted to put her back down.

That had changed things, of course.

So had his mother’s illness.

And after a lot more discussions, Uthvir made an offer he had given up on getting; that he could stay home, look after their baby, look after his mother. Uthvir’s jobs generally paid well, if inconsistently, and of course Thenvunin wasn’t badly off, so money wouldn’t be a problem as long as Thenvunin didn’t want to buy any gold-plated yachts or private islands. 

He hadn’t been sure, though. There had been a voice still ringing in the back of his mind, whispering that he was a coward.

So, eventually, he went back. Once Kel was a little bigger, and after his mother started kicking him out of the house whenever he fussed too much. 

And that sort of set the precedent for it, he supposed. It wasn’t, he learned, terribly unusual for social workers - at least, those with the benefit of Arlathan’s decent mental health programs - to come and go, which was one of the reasons why there were usually openings. Apart from the crippling poverty in certain districts, of course. Arlathan’s class divide had always been large, and working in social services made it very hard for Thenvunin to ignore how heavily he benefited from the side of it that he’d been born on.

So, sometimes he worked, and sometimes he didn’t. When his mother died he couldn’t stand the feelings of uselessness that ate at him, but he also couldn’t bring himself to see similar loss written in other people’s faces. Kel was in school by then, so there were long hours of the day where she was learning, and Uthvir was working, and Thenvunin…

Thenvunin didn’t know what he was doing with himself.

“Take your time,” Uthvir said. “Figure it out.”

Some part of Thenvunin wished that they would just  _tell him_  what he should do with himself. But he knew that they couldn’t, as well, that they would say that anything they told him to do would never matter to him as much as something he decided to do for himself. And they’d be right.

After a while, then, Thenvunin defaulted to the hobby he tended to go to whenever the world was giving him more trouble than he could stand - he wrote.

For about year, that was his ‘work’. He wrote, and he mourned, and he looked after his daughter, and spouse, and nephews and nieces, and friends, and his birds. He drove carpools and went to the lake house, and helped Aelynthi set up some exhibitions and threw his baby girl the most extravagant birthday party that year, to the point where Serahlin took him quietly aside and told him that he needed to tone it down because if he sparked some kind of birthday party war with Tasallir and everyone else had to compete, she would blame him and she would kill him.

Thenvunin, naturally, wasn’t planning to back down over that, but then he heard Ileth sadly lisp that no real live fairy godmothers came to make magical ice sculptures at  _his_  party, and was it because they knew he’d been bad with his magic? 

At which point he promptly felt like the world’s biggest asshole.

After that, everyone sort of got together and agreed that there was a Limit, on the whole birthday thing, so that none of the kids felt like they were harder done by than the others.

After that year, though, he had a finished romance novel, and he could go through his mother’s things without forgetting how to breathe. And possibly the masochist in him decided that things were too easy, so he picked up the phone, and called the agency he worked for, and made arrangements to go back.

Cases went south.

Uthvir was right as they often - infuriatingly - were. People got hurt. People got slammed by unfair systems. Thenvunin’s salary ended up being divided into two piles - a trust fund for Kel, for college, and an emergency account for when he needed to do things like buy someone’s groceries, or medicine, or school supplies. He brought kids home, because of course he did. Uthvir never minded; never once said anything other than ‘of course’, when it happened. They thought about keeping them every time, or at least Thenvunin did, but in most cases there were other arrangements and precedents and families waiting for them.

But there were good times, too. There were days when Thenvunin really did  _help._  When he helped children, when he helped parents, when he convinced them that he was not there to steal away the only good things in their lives, that he wanted to help them  _keep_  those things. To find more. And there were days when he got the monsters, too. When he earned suspensions for breaking noses and jaws and hands that had caused hurt. When some of his ‘leave of absences’ weren’t really his choice, but he always acted like they were, anyway.

And then one night, after a good week, Uthvir rolled over in the beautiful morning light and said they’d had a thought.

Roughly nine months later, that thought had become a tiny, perfect, second little daughter, who fit so beautifully into Thenvunin’s arms. Who blinked and yawned and while her nanae was very much ready to get back into their usual swing of things, Thenvunin felt like the world slowed down again, and that oft-remembered dream of just staying home and taking care of his own children resurfaced.

It wasn’t very hard to decide what to do.

He considered retiring for good, at that point. But then he thought about Virevas going into school, and Kel being in highschool, and empty days with empty houses. Uthvir hated being pregnant, however much they loved the end results, and anyways they couldn’t really afford to maintain their lifestyle if they were always taking time off for maternity leave. Thenvunin supposed two daughters was a good number, all the same; children always grow up, after all, and after mulling it over, he guessed that he would want to go back to work sooner or later.

He always seemed to.

He hadn’t expected it to happen while Virevas was still a baby, though. But then a case came up with a family he’d worked extensively with in the past, and one of his coworkers called and, well. One thing led to another, and Uthvir’s current job had them doing a lot from home anyway, and Virevas got big enough for her baby swim classes while Kel started up kickboxing, and so Thenvunin figured he could work part-time, at least.

And then, of course, there was Eda’s case.

Eda’s case made Thenvunin’s blood  _boil._

But that wasn’t Eda’s fault. None of it was her fault, as he made certain to tell her. His poor, quiet girl, who had hurt so much, who couldn’t speak but that was alright. That was alright. Thenvunin and Uthvir didn’t need her to speak, didn’t need her to hurry up and get better. She came home and Thenvunin knew, somehow, that she would be staying. That of all the children who had come home with him from work, she would be the one who wouldn’t go again. She was too old to be at that ‘adoption prime’ sweet-spot, too elven for most prospective parents anyway, and she was traumatized but very pretty. Too pretty for Thenvunin to ever let her go into the foster system, he thought, where pretty young elves all too often ended up riding in the backs of trucks to Minrathous.

He had failed her. He couldn’t escape that feeling, that he should have done more, should have known that monster would go after her - even though he couldn’t have, even though Uthvir held him and reminded him that he could not read minds, that the police were going to  _arrest_  him, that Thenvunin had done everything and that he was not to blame, just as Eda was not to blame.

It still hasn’t really sunk in for him, yet.

But he thinks of it all, of how that one choice when he was twelve has led to their third daughter; just as Uthvir’s spur-of-the-moment decision brought them Kel, and their mutual, planned agreement brought them Virevas.

It’s amazing, he thinks, how many ways people can get children.

Eda is a lump of silent shock and misery for the first month, about. Kel brings her things - a toy frog, some music, her handheld pokemon games - and Eda eats, and sleeps. She goes to appointments with Thenvunin, careful affairs, always with women whenever he can arrange for it. She sits with Virevas, sometimes, and hands her blocks or other toys when prompted. Watches cartoons, and is very careful whenever she reaches out to touch the little toddler babbling happily at her.

When Uthvir points out that they should probably just get a bigger apartment, they move back into the family house while they sell their old one. And that makes such a difference, in the end, because when Thenvunin shows Eda the garden, she lights up for the first time since her parents’ death. Eagerly rushing to see all the birds, and the little lizards, and turtles. Thenvunin’s heart twists as he sees how excited she is, how much she loves them. Her adoration for animals is less restrictive than his own - she nearly gives him a heart-attack picking up random frogs from the trail behind the house, some frogs have  _toxins_  in their  _skin_  - but whilst Kel likes animals and Virevas seems to enjoy them with the same general enthusiasm of most tiny children and babies, it is the first time Thenvunin has seen his own type of wonderment towards birds reflected in someone else.

It is beautiful to see.

He never realized that.

A few weeks after they move back to the big house, Uthvir takes Virevas to go and have a baby playdate, and Thenvunin packs Eda and Kel into the car and drives them to one of the city’s most reputable aviaries. He feels incredibly excited, as he holds his daughters’ hands, and walks them through the place. The girls think they are just there to see the birds. Kel is indulging him with her usual, unflappable patience, smiling and keeping mostly to his side. Eda, though, goes zipping off with more enthusiasm than she’s shown for any other place, peering up the open enclosures and practically gluing her face to the glass, at one point clambering up onto a fence to try and see a nest better, until Thenvunin rushes over and pulls her down and reminds her that the barricades are there for a  _reason._

Eventually, he guides the girls out to a specific section of the aviary’s massive dome, and greets one of his friends from the bird husbandry forums. This segment of the elaborate building is filled with fairly low-maintenance waterfowl.

Thenvunin beams, as he gestures towards the open space.

“Go and pick,” he declares. “Pick a kind of bird, and we’ll get it for the garden. They will be  _your_  birds.”

Kel blinks.

Eda looks stunned.

And then, when she shoots a questioning glance to his face, and he nods in reassurance, she looks like she might vibrate clear out of her skin. Her hands shake, and she does a little skip-hop jump, and then starts racing through the enclosure. A look on her face like she’s trying to figure out how she’s supposed to choose, when she wants every single animal in there.

Kel watches her for a moment.

“Can Eda pick my birds, too?” she wonders.

Thenvunin frowns at his eldest.

“Don’t you want a bird, da’vhenan?” he asks. Has he been too inattentive? Kel has always seemed to like them - more than most other animals, even more than the dogs - but he knows she’s never quite shared his enthusiasm.

She smiles at him, though.

“No, I want one. I just think it’d be easier for Eda if she got to pick  _two,”_  she declares. 

Thenvunin’s heart warms.

“I think it would just make it twice the challenge for her,” he says, with the assuredness of someone who has faced his foster daughter’s dilemma before himself. He reaches over and gives his eldest an encouraging pat. “Go pick, da’vhenan. Pick for yourself. If you have any questions, you can ask me, or any of the assistants around. There are informative plaques for most of the breeds, too, that will tell you some things about them.”

Eda goes racing by, then, the walkways thudding beneath her steps as she looks like she would be babbling excitedly if she could. Kel moves at a more sedate pace, and Thenvunin leaves her to it, and tries to make certain that Eda doesn’t climb into any ponds or enclosures - telling her it would be bad for the birds seems to work best to stifle that impulse, though.

After about half an hour, Kel comes and gets him again, and shows him to the wood ducks. Cute, pleasant little things, and they generally need to be in pairs, but that isn’t a problem. The garden environment is well suited to them, and Thenvunin already knows precisely which breeder to contact.

Eda comes up behind them, carrying something in her arms, and Thenvunin feels a pang of worry that she’s gone and scooped up one of the birds. He turns around, a gentle admonishment on his lips, and then lets out a shriek of horror.

His foster daughter is not holding a bird.

His foster daughter is holding a  _giant snail._

“Eda, no!” he exclaims. “Put that down, it’s probably poisonous! How did it even get in here?!”

The thing is the size of a decently large house cat!

Eda lets out a sigh, and gives him a look that implies he’s being very silly, as Thenvunin reaches over to pry the ugly beast free because it’s covered in slime and what if the slime is  _toxic_  what if it eats poisonous frogs and yes, well, maybe it’s not all  _that_  slimy, actually, and he can possibly see why she might have picked it up because the rainbow shell is very pretty, but he still isn’t going to let her go around scooping up random dangerous animals!

It is  _not_ a bird!

“Oh, that’s just a cleaner snail,” one of the aviary assistants informs them, as Thenvunin finally gets the awful beast away from poor Eda. “They’re harmless, don’t worry. Kind of friendly, actually. We started getting them in last month, they eat bird droppings.”

Eda gives him a look like  _see?_

Thenvunin deposits the ugly beast back onto the walkway, grimacing at the slime marks it’s left on his clothing, and Eda’s.

“Don’t go picking up random animals, it’s not safe!” he reminds her, and fishes a packet of wet wipes out of his jacket. They don’t really make a dent, as he starts wiping down Eda’s arms, first, but it will have to do until they can get home. “Did you pick something out?”

Eda nods, and then points at the snail.

“You were supposed to pick out a  _bird,”_  he says.

Her expression falls, a little.

His own heart falters.

She’s never really asked for anything, come to it. After all she’s been through, she’s been so  _quiet,_  and it’s been worrying, in fact. Little girls are not supposed to be so silent. So reluctant to run and jump and play, and let themselves be happy. Thenvunin’s hands pause, wet wipe pressed to Eda’s freckled forearm, and he looks back at the snail.

Well.

Well, if it is a…  _useful_ garden denizen, besides…

“Alright,” he says. “But you will wear  _gloves_  when you handle it. And an apron.”

“Actually, that shouldn’t be necessary-” the aviary assistant begins, but goes quiet when Thenvunin levels them with a  _look._

Eda just bounces on the balls of her feet, and grins again.

_Daughters,_  Thenvunin thinks, with a degree of affection that is, really, only appropriate.


	6. Banana Kisses

The first time Vena dip-kisses Ana, they are both wearing their pyjamas. In their new apartment, with open and unopened boxes piled up around them. He is giddily happy in a way he can rarely recall being before. It’s almost dream-like, he thinks, but it’s  _not._  Ana is warm and solid and he’s having troubles keeping himself from touching her all the time, which has slowed down their mission to unpack things.

The apartment isn’t big. Vena’s still interning and Ana’s had to make the down payment on her tiny shop space, and rent in Arlathan is high. But it’s not bad, either. The water pressure is good, the lights all work, and, most importantly, it’s  _theirs._  Ana lets out a sound of triumph as she finds her mp3 player, and sets it up to let her retro playlist drift through the apartment – dancing a little as she gets the utensils squared away.

Vena pauses in the midst of unpacking the bed linens, and stares at her. Watching her bounce on the balls of her feet. Hair tied up all messy, one of his old t-shirts thrown on over her comfy pyjama shorts.

He waits until she does a little spin to the music, and then he can’t take it anymore. Moving forward and wrapping his arms around her, catching her spin and unintentionally throwing her off-balance. She tips, but he’s got her. He’s got her, and the whole thing turns into an impromptu dip as she lets out a surprised squawk.

Vena grins at her, unabashed.

“I’m trying to unpack!” she protests, grinning at him.

“Give me a kiss and I’ll finish it for you,” he suggests. “You can lounge in the bathroom. That’s finished.”

Ana snorts, wrinkling her nose. But then she tilts her chin up, and purses her lips a little, and Vena doesn’t hesitate; dipping down after her and sealing his own lips over hers. He kisses her once, as she clutches his shoulders. And then again, and then  _again,_  kissing off her honey lip balm until she bats him on the shoulder.

_“Vena,”_  she says.

He waggles his eyebrows, but obligingly pulls back.

And then lets out a surprised sound of his own when she reaches up, and catches him by the collar; and pulls him down for another kiss, grinning against his mouth.

~

The second time Vena dip-kisses Ana is after her shop officially starts making a profit. He comes home to find her ready to celebrate, their favourite take-out on the table and a grin a mile wide on her face; and when he’s got her in his arms it just seems like it needs  _more,_  and the only thing he can think to do is tip her backwards and try to kiss her breathless.

It works, he thinks.

She looks at him with her cheeks flushed, biting her own lip once he stops kissing it for her. He grip tight on his biceps.

“Does this mean I’m going to be your kept man now?” he asks.

“All the bananas you can eat,” Ana promises him, mischievously. And then her blush darkens significantly as she realizes the innuendo; but like Vena’s going to let  _that_  pass, he thinks, as he picks her up, and kisses her again.

“I know which banana I’m eating tonight.”

Ana claps a hand against her forehead.

“I walked into that one.”

“That’s okay. I plan on leaving you pretty weak-kneed, so it was good you got some walking in while you had the chance,” he tells her.

That take-away’s usually pretty good when it’s cold anyway.

~

The third time Vena can recall dip-kissing Ana, it’s their wedding. It’s their wedding, and they’re  _married,_  and dancing, and  _she married him._  Vena’s brain just keeps turning that over and over, wondering at it. He’s not exactly a bad deal, he thinks, but even so. Ana is just… she is amazing. She doesn’t look like she should be right here, with him, today. She looks like she should be walking through the Veil, going to dance at the courts of the gods. She is so beautiful, innately, so subtle and strong and resilient.

Life has done thing to her, taken things from her. She is the first best thing that ever happened to him, he thinks; and people, he knows, are not really supposed to hang on to their first loves. To meet them in highschool and have them forever. That’s a fairytale; it’s the feeling of a book being swept out of his hands and placed firmly back onto the shelf. A hand gripping his wrist too tight, marching him away from brightness and whimsy.  _Those things are for other children. Not you._

Ana. Ana should be for someone else, maybe. She’s too good. She’s too bright and lively, untamed but not uncaring; constant and beautiful. With her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, and her grip firm on his arms, as she tugs him back onto the dance floor again.

“You’re mine now,” she says, and he shivers at the uncommon possessiveness in her voice. That sly, proud smirk that curls her lips. There’s no trace of her nerves now, and Vena wonders if they  _haven’t_  half slipped into some celestial gala, unnoticed. Passing between one pair of dancers and the next. The flecks of colour in her eyes are near mesmerizing; the hand she has over his heart is making it flutter.

They whirl, and Vena dips her, and follows her down. Tasting the wedding mead on her lips, as his heart suddenly roars, and surges, like it’s trying to flood its way down to meet with hers.

When they come back up, he rests his forehead against hers.

“I was always yours,” he admits, with a whisper.

~

He loses track, after the third one. He’s pretty sure the fourth through eighth dip-kisses also happen that night. And many others, too. Vena wakes up the next morning with his lips pressed to the back of Ana’s shoulder, and starts the day by kissing his way across the freckles there. Later on there are coffee-flavoured kisses, and kisses in the shower. Wrist kisses and forehead kisses. Vena’s lips get sore, but it’s the sweetest kind of soreness, as he wraps himself up in all the wonders of his wife and never wants to leave.

Ana keeps the wedding adornments he wore in his hair. Fiddling with them in the evening, and smiling at him in a way that makes him feel like he must be worth more than how many languages he can speak, or instruments he can play, or equations he can solve. She looks at him like all the numbered grades and reports of his life don’t matter, like he’s  _Vena_ , and she loves him.

He spares a hope that when he looks at her, she feels this, too.

And then he grins.

“Want to try out the whipped cream?” he asks.

“On what?” Ana wonders. And then almost immediately comes back down to the earth and figures it out, and reddens as he waggles his eyebrows.

“I’m putting it on  _you,”_  she decides, still blushing fiercely. “If I let you put it on me you’ll just get it everywhere.”

“I’d clean it up,” he insists.

She tosses a cushion at him, playfully.

“Cad,” she accuses. And then her gaze goes soft, as she climbs over to him again.

“Vhenan,” he replies.

“Ma vhenan,” she agrees, before she dips his head back, and kisses him.


	7. Primed

It’s not so infrequent that Serahlin and Thenvunin end up working a case together. They’re a good team, both good with the children and absolutely ruthless when it comes to the people who harm them. He’s a good social worker, if a bit  _too_  empathetic at times. He doesn’t always distance himself enough and that hurts him, and she tries to help by organizing play dates with all of the children present for him. Surrounding him with happy, healthy children who have a veritable army of caring and well-equipped adults who adore them. 

Working Thenvunin also means that there is a person who understands when she comes through the door after a particularly long day and practically wraps herself around any of the children who happen to be nearby. Kel was over for a play date once and had run up to Serahlin to say hi when she got home. A fifteen minute hug later and Kel began to squirm, wanting to go play with Darevas, Felasel, and Ileth. 

Thenvunin had cast her a knowing look before she dragged her exhausted body up the stairs to change. 

Many of the cases they work together are not necessarily awful, custody battles are the most frequent customers. Parents bickering over who gets the child when if at all, Thenvunin and Serahlin acting as support and advocates for the child stuck in the middle. 

But every now and then, a horrifying case crosses their desks. Cases involving sexual assault, abuse…kidnapping. 

It’s her idea to go shopping with Kel and Ileth to help alleviate the stress of the case. Thenvunin is grateful for the distraction as they surround themselves in pretty clothes that their wonderful children so kindly oblige their parent’s wishes by dressing in said pretty clothes. 

Kel comes out in a particularly spectacular frilly number and Thenvunin claps, snapping pictures as he cajoles her to spin. Serahlin watches with glee and a heavier than normal happiness. 

“Isn’t your cousin pretty, Ileth?” She turns to where her son…is supposed to be…

“Ileth?” She calls, beginning to move through the racks of the store. 

“Ileth?” She calls again. Where is he? He was just here just a moment ago, right beside her. He knows not to wander off without telling her.

“Ileth!” She raises her voice and begins to move more quickly around the store. 

“What are you people doing?! Where is my son? Ileth!” She shouts.

“Ileth!” Thenvunin calls and she glances over to see him with Kel in his arms, covering the other side of the store. 

Her heart races and her hearing begins to sharpen. The store blurs as she practically runs through it. Dammit, where is he? He knows not to wander, he was  _right next to her_. She’s a child advocate, she knows the dangers, she takes the precautions.

“ILETH!” She screams and suddenly Thenvunin is there, looking down at her with calm eyes.

“Serahlin, we’ll find him, we’ll find him. Look at me, Serahlin, look at me, we’ll find him, okay? Let’s go check -

“Memae?” A small voice says. Serahlin whips around to see her son standing right in front of her again. He’s here, he’s here, oh. She falls to her knees, heedless of her dress and pulls her son close to herself. She cradles his head and buries her face into his long hair. 

“Memaee!”

“Where did you go? You know you’re not supposed to wander!” She hisses and he whines.

“I had to go potty! And you wanted to see Kel!” He argues and she lets out an odd laugh, kissing his forehead.

“Oh baby, please just tell me, okay? Tell me when you have to go potty or anywhere, okay? Please? For me?” She pulls back to hold his face, meeting his eyes. He blinks and nods.

“Okay, Memae,” he says and she pulls him back into her. He’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe. She has him. She breathes him in, feeling his small body pressed against hers and she tries to wrangle her composure into something more sensible. 

She can calm down now. She has her son. No one came in and stole him from her. He just…had go potty. 

A hand comes over her shoulder but she doesn’t move. It’s Thenvunin, she knows, bending down and wrapping them both in a tight hug. 

“We’re all here, we’re all safe,” he whispers in what she knows to be his work voice. She almost wants to laugh at it - she would think that she’d be the rational one, the calm one in this. But as Ileth hugs her back she knows that it doesn’t really matter, he’s her  _son_ , rationality flew out the window years ago when it comes to him. 

He’s her son and he’s safe. She has him. She has him.


	8. Olwyn is Adopted

Olwyn is six when Tomos is born. 

She’s six, and Drystan is four, and while Olwyn is rather tired of little brothers she supposes she will make do. Perhaps Tomos won’t be quite so noisy and pull her hair like Drystan does.

“My babies,” Her mother whispers fondly, as she kisses the top of Olwyn’s head.

“Come on, princess,” Her father lifts her up onto his shoulders. “Would you like to go and see your little brother?”

Tomos is very tiny. He looks a bit like an alien, or Mrs. Hoggerdy’s hairless cat. He is lying in a big room on the other side of a wall of glass, like a big window, and she presses her nose against it. “Why is he in that room?”

“He is very small, and he has a bit of a cough. The doctors want to make sure he will be alright before he comes home with us.”

“Henrietta says that when her brother was born, he was premurder, and he had to be in a big glass box.”

“Premature,” Her father corrects.

“But then they had a doctor come in and use magic and he got to go home the same night. Can’t we just get a mage to come and heal Tomos?”

Her father stiffens, and she looks at his expression in the window’s reflection and it scares her. He does not look happy. He looks like he does when he’s about to threaten to get the belt and tan her hide. He’s never done it, because the face he makes is usually enough to make her sorry. “…daddy?”

“Mages are evil, princess.” Her father says evenly. “They destroy everything they touch.”

That’s what Mr. Villiers, who teaches the children lessons when they go to the chantry every week, says too. But Mr. Villiers is mean and grouchy, and he doesn’t let them go to the bathroom or play with the toys in the nursery when they’re there, so she doesn’t pay much attention to what he says.

“Ok,” She nods. If her daddy says they are evil, then they must be. Her daddy has never lied to her, not once.

He pats her leg fondly and smiles. “Don’t worry princess. Your mother and I will protect you and your brothers from them. No one will ever hurt you.”

Olwyn smiles.

—

“Mommy, look at Olwyn’s new trick! Isn’t it cool?”

Her mother screams and drops the plate she was drying; it hits the ground and shatters. Olwyn jumps back, and the lights in her palm fade away into the air.

They are standing in the kitchen. Beside her, Drystan clutches their football to his chest. Tomos begins to cry from his play pen near the dining room table.

“What have you done?” Her mother nearly shrieks, before her eyes dart to her brothers. She lunges and grabs Tomos from the pen. He’s still wailing, flailing his arms against her shoulder. “Drystan!” She screams, “Drystan come over here this instant! Get away from her!”

It takes Olwyn a few seconds to realize that her mother means  _her_. She blinks, unsure. “Mommy?”

“Stay back!” Her mother repeats. She’s crying, and Tomos is crying, and Drystan looks like he’s about to cry as well because he doesn’t know what’s going on. “What have you  _done_ , Olwyn?”

“I just..” Olwyn holds up her hands and immediately puts them down when her mother flinches and turns slightly, to shield Tomos from her. “…I just wanted to show Drystan what fireflies look like. He’s never seen ‘em and he wanted to know.” Tears begin to prick at the corners of her own eyes. Her mother looks so  _scared_.

Her mother lets out a harsh, ragged breath. “How long have you been able to make fireflies?”

Since last week, in the playground at school. Lucas Flandin had said that his brother could make fire, and so all the kids had crowded in the corner by the foursquare court and tried. She’d been the only one to do it, and Lucas Flandin had given her his chocolate pudding cup from his lunchbox. “I just…I didn’t know it was bad. I’m sorry.”

“Go to your room, Olwyn.”

Olwyn hiccups. “Mommy I didn’t mean to, I promise. I won’t do it again. I didn’t know it was bad. I—”

“GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

That night, when her father comes home from work, he is holding the belt.

—

She hurts everywhere. It hurts to move, especially her legs. Her face is red and her eyes burn from crying, and her throat is raw. And she’s scared, and sad, because she doesn’t understand why her family hates her now.

She wasn’t bad before. How does the magic make her bad now?

It takes her twenty minutes to get down the stairs and into the kitchen. She has to stop on the steps several times because it hurts too bad. The rest of the family is sitting at the table eating breakfast, but her parents stop eating when she walks into the room.

She stands by the doorway and waits, unsure.

Her father is wearing his belt.

Her mother looks at her, and her eyes are as red as Olwyn’s. She’s been crying all night. Olwyn knows because she’d heard her. She’d made her father stop with the belt. She gives a scared, watery smile, “Go and get dressed, Olwyn. We’re going to the carnival today.”

Drystan looks up from his eggs, “REALLY?”

OIwyn lets out a little breath and her shoulders sag. Her mother must be sorry then, and her father too, if they’re taking her to the carnival. Maybe that’s what you have to do, when your child learns magic. Maybe if you use the belt enough after it starts, it will go away.

“Ok,” She says, with a shy smile. Her stomach growls, but she doesn’t get closer to the table. If she does, her father might think that she’s still got magic in her.

She wears her new dress. It is big and fluffy and perhaps not the best thing to wear to an amusement park, but she loves it. She even gets to wear the fairy wings that go with it. She has to put it on herself, because her mommy won’t touch her, but at least it means that she doesn’t have to sit through her mommy brushing the tangles out of her hair.

They make her sit in the back alone. Tomos and Drystan sit in the middle row in their car seats and her mommy and father are in the front. Her bottom and legs still hurt a lot, but she is too excited about going to the carnival to pay much attention. She just has to make sure not to move around too much.

It is hot outside.

Usually, when they go places with lots of people, her mother or father make her hold their hands. They don’t, this time. Her mother is carrying Tomos on her hip, and her father holds Drystan’s hand. He looks back at her, and reaches his own hand out for her to grab, but her father pulls him roughly forward before she can touch him.

Olwyn puts her hands in front of her and stays as close as she can.

They don’t really go on any rides. Well, Drystan does. He gets to go on the carousel. She has to sit on the bench, while her mother and father and Tomos stand a few feet away.

She’s really hungry, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t want anyone to get angry with her. She swings her legs back and forth, but it hurts too much so she has to stop after a while. Her dress is too hot.

They walk around for a few hours, and Drystan goes on rides, and Olwyn wonders if she’s still in trouble for her magic. Maybe instead of the belt, she just has to watch Drystan have fun without her. It isn’t fair, and her legs hurt, and it’s hot, and she still hasn’t eaten anything. The carnival isn’t fun anymore.

She wants to go home.

“Who wants ice cream?” Her mother asks, finally.

“ME!” Drystan shouts.

“CREAM!” Tomos agrees.

Olwyn swallows. She wants ice cream too.

Her mother looks at her, and Olwyn doesn’t know what that look is supposed to mean. It’s the same expression  _she_ makes when she’s gotten into trouble and lied about it and thinks she’s going to get a spanking. She gives a tight smile, and she looks like she’s going to cry. “Well then, I think we all deserve some ice cream then.”

Olwyn sits down on the bench beside the balloon stand, while her father goes to get the ice cream and her mother fusses over Tomos and tries to keep Drystan from running off.

Her father comes back with one cone. Just one. Her heart sinks and she hiccups. She doesn’t get any ice cream, then. But to her surprise her father hands the cone to her. She stares down at the ice cream. It’s chocolate vanilla swirl. Her favorite. “You and your brother will have to share.”

“Olwyn, we’re going to go and take the boys to the bathroom. Can you be a big girl and sit here by yourself?” Her mother asks. Her voice is shaking, but Olwyn just nods with a bright smile. “Ok! I’ll make sure to save Drystan some ice cream!”

Her parents aren’t mad at her anymore. Maybe when they get back from the bathroom she can go on a ride!

She watches her family disappear into the crowd, and for a moment she’s worried. But she’s seven years old now. She’s a big girl, and her mother told her to stay put so she will. At least the ice cream cone in her hand is cool.

She gives it a tentative lick, but doesn’t have anymore. She has to remember to save some for Drystan.

She watches the people walk past her. Some families come and buy balloons from the clown at the stand next to her. The ice cream in the cone begins to melt onto her hand. She licks up the bits that do, because she doesn’t want to get it on her dress.

The sun is very, very hot.

She’s getting kind of thirsty.

_They’ll be back soon._ Sometimes, at places with lots of people, you have to wait in line to go to the bathroom and you have to be patient and let the people who have waited longer go first.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, but it feels like forever. Drip drip drip goes the icecream, vanilla chocolate swirl droplets covering her hand. But she’s supposed to share, so she can’t eat it all yet. She promised she’d share with Drystan.

The clown who makes the balloons asks her where her parents are. “They went to the bathroom,” She says confidently. “They’ll be back soon.”

She squirms a bit on the bench. It’s hot, and she has to go to the bathroom, and her hands are sticky.

Her head feels light. If she moves her head too quickly, she gets dizzy. The ice cream has dripped onto her dress. The cone is soggy, but she keeps a hold of it.  _She_  doesn’t like soggy cones, but maybe Drystan won’t mind. She hopes he isn’t sad that the ice cream’s all melted.

More time passes, before the clown comes and kneels in front of her. “How about we go to the entrance? Maybe your parents got lost in the crowds. We’ll call on the big speaker system to tell them to come find you there, ok?”

It’s true, there ARE a lot of people here, though by this point the crowds are thinner. She nods. “Ok.” She hops down from the bench and falls to the ground with a yelp. Her legs don’t want to move; they hurt too much. She begins crying, fat tears slipping down her cheeks.

The clown is asking if she’s alright, and he brushes the edge of her dress away and looks on silently at the marks covering her legs. Then he picks her up, and it hurts when he touches the marks, but she tries to be quiet as he carries her toward the entrance.

They never come for her.

At the police station, a nice lady takes her back to a big building called The Circle Orphanage, and there are lots of kids her age there. It’s a bit like a school, except they all sleep there.

At night, crammed in a bed with three other little girls, she tries not to cry.

They never come.

—

Only little kids get adopted.

That’s what the other children her age and older tell her. Adults only want little kids, who don’t remember their old parents. It doesn’t matter how pretty you are, or if you can do your multiplication tables in your head, or read big-kid chapter books.

Some people come and talk to her. Nice people who ask her what she likes to do, and about her old family, but they never come to visit her more than once.

She thinks the other kids are right. Only little kids get adopted.

Olwyn is nine when Aelynthi and Victory visit the orphanage. She and some of the other kids are jumping rope and don’t even notice that Mrs. Wynne has brought them out to watch the kids. They’ve all decided that they’re going to learn how to jump double-dutch, and Olwyn is getting very good at it.

They’re trying to see how many people can jump in at once. They’ve got five so far. Olwyn giggles and tries to keep from bumping into Vaena. She’s not that good at jump rope, and she trips a lot, so Olwyn has to be careful to make sure that Vaena doesn’t ruin the whole game.

They get eight people in before Vaena trips.

The group groans, and decide they want to go and play on the monkey-bars instead until only Olwyn and Vaena are left.

“I am terrible at jumprope.” Vaena mopes.

“It’s ok. We can’t all be good at everything,” Olwyn comforts her, and looks around, “Do you want to go and play tetherball? You’re good at that.”

“Ok!” Vaena chirps, and runs off to go get in line. Olwyn gathers up the abandoned ropes and heads toward Mrs. Wynne. “Mrs. Wynne, can I go put the ropes up?” And that’s when she sees the two people with her.

One of them is gigantic. He’s so big, he MUST be a qunari, except that he doesn’t have any horns. The other one is normal-sized, but he’s prettier than anyone she’s ever seen before.

“Olwyn,” Mrs. Wynne smiles at her, “This is Victory and Aelynthi.”

“Hello,” Olwyn waves, “My name is Olwyn. I’m nine years old and I like dogs.” Liking dogs is important, and should always be mentioned early on when meeting people. Because if someone responds that they  _don’t_  like dogs, you know that they are probably not good people.

The big one crouches down, and she still has to look up to meet his face. “I like dogs too,” he says kindly. The pretty man looks like he’s going to cry. She isn’t sure why. She hopes she hasn’t done anything wrong. She looks to Mrs. Wynne for an explanation.

“Victory and Aelynthi would like to get to know you a bit more. Why don’t the three of you come inside with me? We’ll take the jump ropes back on the way.”

Olwyn nods.  _Oh_. She tries not to get her hopes up.  _Only little kids get adopted_ , she reminds herself as they walk.  _They won’t come back. No one ever does._

—

They  _do_  come back. They talk with her, and ask her what she likes to do, and her favorite colors and foods and books. Aelynthi tells her that he’s an artist. He sculpts things, like statues. And Victory used to be in the military but now he protects important people from getting hurt.

They are nice, Aelynthi and Victory. Victory is funny, even if she can’t understand all his jokes, and he gives her piggyback rides. Aelynthi braids her hair and places hopscotch with her. And sometimes they all go out to the big park and Victory and Aelynthi swing the big double-dutch ropes and Olwyn jumps.

She likes those days the best.

They come back six times before Aelynthi asks her if she wants to come live with them forever. To be a family.

She stares down at her lap, and her hand trembles, just a little bit. They don’t know. They don’t know that she has magic, and that it makes her a bad person. Ever since coming to the orphanage she hasn’t used it even once. Only Mrs. Wynne knows. For some reason, her legs begin to ache, and the scar left from her father’s belt buckle itches.

But maybe if she never uses it again, they won’t find out. If they never find out, if she hides it, then maybe Aelynthi and Victory won’t hate her like her parents had.

“Ok,” She says softly. “I’d like that.”

Victory grins, and Aelynthi gives her a pleased, watery smile, and she looks down at her lap.

They are going to hate her when they find out she’s lied.

—

Aelynthi and Victory don’t actually live in Ostwick. They live in a big city called Arlathan, and they have to take a plane to get there. It’s her first plane ride, and it’s kind of scary, but it’s also fun once they get up high and she can look out the window.

Arlathan is HUGE. She’s never seen anything so big. They take a taxi from the airport, which is cool, because it’s bright yellow with black squares on it, and it goes really fast when it can. But there are too many cars on the street for them to go  _too_  fast.

Aelynthi and Victory live in a big building in the middle of the city, on the top floor. Aelynthi calls it a penthouse, but she isn’t sure what that means. It’s got a slanted roof on one side, and one wall is all windows. She can see all the other tall buildings from it.

Victory leads her around the house, showing her where everything is. In the kitchen he shows her where the cookies are, in the big cookie jar on the counter, and the drawer in the fridge full of juice boxes. There’s even ice pops in the freezer. He tells her that she can eat them any time she wants to.

Aelynthi sighs and says that she can’t have  _too_ many, or she’ll get a tummy ache.

There’s an upstairs too. “My office is right here,” Victory points out, “And the last door on the left is your papa and I’s bedroom. You can come in any time you need something, just make sure to knock.”

She nods, still entirely too overwhelmed to speak. Everything is big and pretty; just like her new parents.

“And this…” Victory grins as he stops in front of the last door on the right, “Is your room.” Big block letters in purple spell out ‘OLWYN’ on the front, so she supposes that much is obvious. Aelynthi and Victory watch her, and she realizes then that they’re waiting for her to open the door and look inside.

She turns the handle and pushes it open and freezes.

Her bedroom looks like the  _ocean_. The walls are painted in different shades of blue, with coral and seaweed and fish; there’s a giant octopus in the corner, holding onto a bookshelf. And there are  _mermaids,_ and fairy lights hang from the ceiling.Her bed is a giant clam shell, with several stuffed fish atop seafoam colored pillows and matching bedspread.

She takes a few more steps into the room. “This is mine?” She squeaks. She remembers Aelynthi asking her what she liked, but she hadn’t thought he would actually  _remember_.

Victory chuckles, and Aelynthi simply smiles. “Of course, Olwyn.”

“Welcome home.” Victory bends down and presses a kiss atop her head, but Olwyn can’t tear her eyes away from the mermaids painted on the walls.

_Mermaids_.

—

It takes…time to get used to the house. Or rather, to get used to it being hers. She loves her bed, and her favorite fish plushy. It’s a lionfish, Aelynthi tells her, and he picks out a book from the bookshelf and shows her all the different fish and their names. There’s a giant fishtank in the living room. It takes up an entire wall. There isn’t a lionfish in there, but Aelynthi says they might add one later, if they can. Some of the fish don’t get along with each other, so they’ll have to be careful.

They take her out the morning after she arrives to buy clothes, and a toothbrush, and hair ties, and lots of other things that Aelynthi says are important. They leave the store with several bags and a few more stuffed animals because Victory had seen her looking at them when they’d walked by.

Two weeks later, three elves come over to visit and introduce themselves as her grandparents. Grandma Faunalyn is big and broad-shouldered and has a nice smile and asks her if she likes to play sports. Grandnanae Melarue is even prettier than Aelynthi, and they wear lots of jewelry and give her a pretty gold locket with a purple stone on the front because purple is her favorite color. And Grandpa Nithroel is quiet and gentle and smells like flowers. He brings her a new book, because Aelynthi and Victory had said she likes books, and it’s one she hasn’t read before but it’s about mermaids and pirates and she curls into a corner of the big couch and lets him read it to her.

He has a nice voice for reading, and he does different voices for all of the characters. His voice for the evil sea witch is her favorite.

They all go out to eat, and Melarue buys her cake even though Aelynthi and Victory say that it’s too close to her bedtime for that much sugar.

“Sweet girls deserves sweet things,” Melarue sniffs, and proceeds to ignore them both. “She will be fine.” They catch her eye across the table and wink, and Olwyn giggles.

One of them is always home with her, though Victory does have to leave a lot for his job. He protects a man called Elgar’nan, who wants to meet her, but Aelynthi says that it will have to wait until she feels more comfortable in the house. Because Aelynthi is an artist he gets to choose when he works. She thinks that’s pretty cool. He doesn’t have to do anything if he doesn’t want to. He has a big studio on the other side of the city where he makes sculptures and things, but he’s put off working on them so that he can be at home when Victory leaves.

A month into living with them, Aelynthi says that it is time for her to go to school. They are eating dinner—Victory made shrimp scampi—and Olwyn pauses with a giant shrimp in her mouth as they both turn to look at her.

“Tomorrow we will go visit the school and you can see how you like it. A friend of mine has a daughter your age there. I think the two of you will get along. She was adopted too. Her name is Lavellan.”

Olwyn doesn’t know that name, which means she isn’t from the Circle in Ostwick. Of course that makes sense. They are in Arlathan now, so there are probably orphanages here too.

“Will that be alright?”

Olwyn likes her new room, with all its toys and books, and the big tv in the living room where she watches cartoons, but she must admit that it gets a bit boring with just her. She’d always liked school, so she nods, “Ok.”

—

Vhenadahl Elementary is a big building of rust-colored brick. It’s bigger than the Circle Orphanage in Ostwick and her old school put together. All of the children she can see are wearing uniforms, and she feels extremely out of place in her purple overalls and sneakers.

Aelynthi smiles down at her, holding her hand tight. “Today we’re just going to look around. You don’t need to wear the uniform yet.”

“I like the skirts,” She offers, giving a small smile.

Aelynthi laughs, “Let’s go and meet the principal and then we’ll go and see your teacher, alright?”

“Ok.” Olwyn nods, and follows him inside. The hallways are wide and high, and when they pass by any students they stop to stare at her and begin whispering among themselves. It isn’t the bad kind of whispering, like they’re making fun of her or anything. She can tell that much. But it still makes her uncomfortable. She’s glad when Aelynthi leads her into a big office.

The principal is a woman named Marethari. She’s got grey hair and wrinkles and she smiles when she sees Olwyn. “So this is your lovely daughter.”

“Yes, this is Olwyn.”

His daughter. He’d called her his  _daughter_. She’s known, of course, that that’s what it means when you get adopted. And he’d told her to call him papa and Victory babae but it’s the first time he’s said it to someone else.

“Hello,” Olwyn greets politely.

Principal Marethari nods back, before she turns to Aelynthi. “I thought that Olwyn could go and meet the other children while we talk. Grade four is out at recess at the moment.”

Aelynthi smiles, “That sounds fun, doesn’t it Olwyn? Would you like to go play?”

Olwyn nods. When they’d been walking inside she’d spotted a giant tire swing and it had looked super fun. Marethari calls someone in to her office and they show Olwyn the way to the playground. There are lots of kids running around, some her age and a few that look older too.

She stands near the doorway and fidgets, unsure of where to go. She spots the giant tire swing she’d seen earlier. At least three kids are standing on it and swinging back and forth, and one of the teachers is yelling at them to be careful.

The monkey bars look fun, and there’s a kickball game going on near the football field.

“WOW! Your hair is really curly! Wanna be my friend?”

Olwyn blinks. She doesn’t think that the person talking to her can really call  _her_  hair curly, not when her own red mane is a mass of frizzled ringlets that doesn’t seem to want to stay in the pigtails its been forced in. The girl is a dwarf, and she’s got freckles like Olwyn, and there’s a giant gap where her front teeth are supposed to be.

“Um, hi.” Olwyn smiles, “I’m Olwyn.”

“I’m Maibrit!” The dwarven girl answers, before she whirls around and shrieks, “LAVELLAN! MAHI! COME HERE AND MEET OLLIE!”

A tall, gangly qunari and a short elf girl break away from the group of students playing kickball and jog over. The qunari smiles at her shyly, but the elf girl walks straight up and looks her over. “You’re Olwyn? My papa knows your papa and showed me your picture. I like your freckles.”

That’s right, Aelynthi had said that his friend’s daughter was named Lavellan. This must be her, then. Olwyn grins, “Thank you!”

Mahi, the qunari, mumbles an introduction and then seems to try and hide behind Maibrit, which is very hard to do. Maibrit grabs her hand and begins dragging her toward the kickball game, which is fine with her, she likes kickball.

Lavellan looks down at Olwyn’s overalls. “You don’t have a uniform yet?”

“Not yet.” Olwyn shakes her head. “I’m not staying all day today.”

Maibrit turns, “Are you gonna be here tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“I like your overalls,” Maibrit says. “And your hair clips. My mom says that if I try and put clips in they’ll just get lost in all my hair.”

Olwyn giggles at that, “They’re dinosaurs.”

Lavellan leans closer to get a better look. “It’s a stegosaurus, right?”

Maibrit nods, “Dinosaurs are so cool! Sometimes we play dinosaurs.”

Khardanmahi sighs and speaks for the first time, “You guys always make me play the T-rex.”

“I can be the T-rex,” Olwyn suggests.

“Ok! I’m going to be a triceratops!” Maibrit shouts, and makes horns on her head with her fingers and locks gazes with Mahi, “The mighty triceratops spots its prey!”

“A triceratops eats grass!” Mahi wails, already dashing away as Maibrit gives chase with a loud whoop.

Lavellan shakes her head, “You don’t have to be the T-rex if you don’t want to. Maibrit always ends up chasing everyone anyway.”

“Ok,” Olwyn nods, “I’ll be a stegosaurus then. What are you going to be?”

“A pterodactyl.” She glances to where Maibrit has “impaled” Mahi with her horns, “It isn’t really a dinosaur, but Maibrit doesn’t know that.”

“I won’t say anything,” Olwyn promises, “Maybe we should go and save Mahi.” Mahi lets out a wail in that moment, and Maibrit shrieks as her hair gets caught in the button of Mahi’s blouse and they both go toppling to the ground.

“Vanquished by the apex predator of the jungle, the mighty T-rex!” Maibrit moans, clutching her hands to her chest.

Mahi sighs as she tries to untangle Maibrit’s hair from her shirt, “I wasn’t even a T-rex this time.”

“What are you then?” Maibrit sits up, free again, as the other two girls approach.

Mahi glances at all of them and then a slow grin stretches across her face, “A  _spinosaurus_ ,” And she lunges as the other girls shriek and break into a run.

—

Life gets easier. She no longer wakes up in the morning wondering where she is. It’s a bit like when she’d first arrived at the orphanage. It had taken almost a whole year before she’d stopped imagining that her mom and dad were going to come and take her home. The orphanage had been a temporary place, like a hotel. That’s how living with Aelynthi and Victory had been, in the beginning.

But it’s been five months now, and she no longer feels live she’s living in someone else’s house. It feels more like a place she’s supposed to live.

She gets to meet Elgar’nan, who is Victory’s boss. He is loud and hugs her and pinches her cheeks and calls her princess and buys her candy. Aelynthi doesn’t seem to particularly like Elgar’nan, and they only stay for an hour or so before she has to go do homework (she finished her homework already, but she doesn’t say it out loud) and Aelynthi mumbles about “nosy, irritating, criminals” under his breath and thinks she can’t hear because she has her headphones in, but she does because she hasn’t turned the music on yet.

One of her parents always picks her up from school, except on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tuesdays she goes to Grandpa Nithroel’s dance studio for ballet lessons. Thursdays she goes home with Lavellan and stays there for a few hours until Aelynthi comes to pick her up before dinner. Last month, she and Lavellan and Mahi went to Maibrit’s house for a sleepover and she lives in a  _mansion_. It was huge and she even had a swimming pool in her backyard.

It’s Tuesday, but she forgets to bring her ballet slippers so Victory drives her home to pick them up first before going to practice. Aelynthi is home, and kisses her on the forehead and tells her to hurry and grab her things. He’s going to drop her off on his way to his workshop so that Victory can go back to work.

It takes her a few minutes to find her shoes, because one of them isn’t where it’s supposed to be. It’s hidden under her desk where she’d dropped it the other day, behind the trash can. She sighs as she crawls out from under the desk and grabs the other shoe and puts them both on the bed. Maybe it would be easier to change into her leotard now, instead of when she gets to dance practice.

So she pulls off her uniform and puts it on her bed, because Aelynthi doesn’t like it when she throws her clothes on the floor, and pulls on her purple leotard from her duffel bag. She doesn’t put on the ballet slippers, because she doesn’t want them to get dirty on the walk, so she sticks them back in the bag and pulls her hair into a ponytail with a big sparkly scrunchie.

And she doesn’t know why, but for the first time in a long while, she thinks about her magic. Maybe it’s the light coming through the window stickers that paints rainbow fish on the opposite wall, or how the fairy lights above her head look like fireflies. She isn’t quite sure.

She hasn’t done any magic since the day she showed Drystan what fireflies looked like. She looks down at her palm and frowns. Maybe it’s all gone now? The way the people on the news talk about it, magic is supposed to be hard to control, so if she still had it, it would have appeared by now, right?

That’s what she tells herself, when she tries to summon flames. She’s just checking to see if it’s still there. Just to make sure.

It jumps to life in her palm quickly, and she’s surprised at how easy it was. She’d just thought about it and it had happened! But it’s dangerous, like the people on tv say, and so she needs to stop and never do it again.

That’s what she tells herself, but she continues to stare down at the flames curling around her fingers. It’s warm, but not too hot. Fire is supposed to burn, but it just kind of wraps around her like a scarf.

“Come on, honey, you’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon—oh!”

The flames in her hands sputter and die as her stomach drops. Olwyn turns toward the doorway, frozen to the spot. Aelynthi and Victory are standing there, eyes wide.

They saw.

They  _know_.

Her eyes fixate on the belt Victory is wearing, before she bolts for the bed. She crawls under it, scrambling, knees scraping against the carpet as she sobs. She has to get away before they hurt her. They saw and they know and now they’re going to try and hit it out of her, like her father did. But it won’t work, because it didn’t work before, and then they’ll send her back to the orphanage.

“Olwyn!” Aelynthi calls out worriedly, “Olwyn, are you alright?”

She presses herself as far back under the bed as she can and sobs. She can see Victory and Aelynthi’s legs as the two kneel down onto the floor to peer under the bed at her. She can’t get out. They’re going to hit her with the belt because she deserves it and then they’re going to leave her.

“Please, please, I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry. I won’t ever do it again. I  _promise_.”

“Do what, little heart? What did you do? Whatever it is, it’s alright. Papa and babae will forgive you.”

“M-magic. The fire.” She hiccups, “I’m so sorry. I won’t ever do it again. Please don’t hit me with the belt.”

There is a long, strained silence. She cannot see their expressions, but she hears Aelynthi’s ragged breathing, and Victory whispers something. And then Aelynthi calls to her softly, “Olwyn…it’s alright. We know about the magic. We’ve always known. It’s ok.”

Her breath hitches, as the hiccups and sniffles begin to peter out. They knew? They knew and they still adopted her? Of course they know. Mrs. Wynne would have had to tell them before they took her home. But she’s only nine, and she’s scared, and so it never occurred to her that they might already know and don’t care.

_Everyone_ cares. Magic is scary and dangerous and the people who use it are bad people. They need to be locked up. That’s what people on the news used to say. There used to be laws about it, and all mages had to go live somewhere else so that they couldn’t hurt anyone, but those laws don’t exist anymore because lots of people got mad. They learned that part in school.

“It’s alright, little heart, come on out. It’s alright,” Aelynthi pleads.

She bites back a sob and slowly scoots forward. They’ve moved back a bit, so that she can crawl out. She can see the doorway. The door is open. Maybe she could run. But as soon as she comes out from under the bed, Aelynthi pulls her close.

He crushes her against him. “Oh my baby, my sweet baby, we will never hurt you, I promise,” He is shaking as he holds her, and she thinks he might be crying too. Victory holds them both, his big arms coming around Aelynthi’s back to rest on her head.

But aren’t they mad? Aren’t they mad that she’s a mage? She continues to cry, because she’s still scared, and relieved, and confused all in one because she doesn’t know what’s going on. They hold her for a long time, rocking her back and forth, and no one says anything about missing dance practice or going to work.

Finally, when she stops crying, Victory goes into the bathroom and comes back with some tissues. He dries her face, and wipes her nose as she tries to stifle the last of her sniffles, and Aelynthi continues to murmur reassurances against her hair.

After a few more minutes, Victory speaks. “Magic isn’t scary, Olwyn. It’s ok to have magic.”

Olwyn swallows. “Are you sure?”

“Your papa has magic too,” Victory explains, “He uses it in his work.”

Olwyn stares, wide-eyed. “ _Real_  magic?” She’s never seen Aelynthi use magic around the house.

Aelynthi holds up his hand with a watery smile, and Olwyn stares at the lights dancing in his palm in fascination. Aelynthi has magic, and he’s the nicest person in the world. He reads to her every night (even if he doesn’t do the voices as well as grandpa Nithroel) and he lets her wear as many hair clips as she wants to, and paints her nails with sparkles and mermaids.

“Your work doesn’t get mad that you have magic?” She asks softly.

Aelynthi smiles, eyes still misted with tears. “No, little heart, they don’t care at all. Having magic is fine. Some people have it and some don’t, just like some people have brown hair and some have blonde, or some people are dwarves and others are elves. It doesn’t change who we are.”

“…ok…” She isn’t sure if she fully believes him, but she knows then, in that moment, that Victory and Aelynthi will never hurt her because of her magic.

In the end she doesn’t go to ballet practice. Aelynthi calls Nithroel and tells him that she won’t be there, and wraps her up in her favorite fuzzy blanket on the couch and pops in Kiki’s Dlivery Service and lets her eat a whole plate of cookies—he helps—and Victory leaves the room and makes a phone call but he comes back too and says that he talked to Elgar’nan and told him “the situation” and Aelynthi doesn’t even get mad like he usually does when Victory talks about work and whatever it is that Elgar’nan makes him do.

Instead he says, “Good,” and then pulls her close.

Neither of her parents wear belts after that, not for years and years.


	9. Baby Curiosity and Pride

Curiosity is over for a sleep-over.

Pride is so excited. He’s read about sleep-overs in books, and heard about them from other kids at school, but he’s never been allowed to have one before. But Mythal’s Business Friend is staying over, and she brought her daughter, Morrigan, and Mythal wanted her assistant - who is Curiosity’s Mamae - to stay over, and so now Pride is having a sleep-over.

He’s so excited, he can’t actually sleep.

He gets out of his big bed, and carefully slips across the room. It’s easy, because the floors are wooden, and his pyjamas have footies on them. The soft fabric slides, and he skips over the part of the floor that’s liable to groan, and opens the door.

He looks down the hallways, both ways, before running across to the room where the girls are sleeping. His nanny said  _lights out_  and  _little boys can’t be in the same room as little girls, it’s not proper,_  but it’s a  _sleep-over_  and Pride thinks that maybe means he can make a little mischief.

Just a little.

He opens the door, and hears the sound of whispers die down. Then two dark-haired little heads peek up at him from a blanket lump in the guest bed, and he carefully closes the door shut and scampers over towards them. Curiosity grins and helps him pile onto the bed, and Morrigan shines a flashlight in his eyes.

“Who goes there?” she asks.

“You know who I am!” he complains.

She giggles, and moves the light away.

“That’s right. You’re the little orphan boy,” she says.

Pride frowns.

“Don’t call me that,” he replies, and gets the flashlight in his face again, until Curiosity takes it away.

“Pride’s not an orphan, he’s  _Mythal’s,”_  she says.

“My mother says he’s not really, though,” Morrigan insists.

“Your mother’s mean,” Curiosity declares. “ _My_  mother says that babies come from lots and lots of places, and as long as there’s someone to give them goodnight kisses, then that’s what’s important.”

Pride nods. That’s what his nanny does!

Morrigan scoffs.

“ _My_  mother says goodnight kisses are silly, and that little girls have to learn to do without them,” she replies.

Curiosity looks horrified.

Pride wriggles his way under the blankets a bit, and discovers a big, flat book that the girls were looking at before he came in. He pulls up  _The Tales of Elvhenan,_  and commandeers the flashlight as Curiosity tries to explain to Morrigan that bedtime kisses are  _vital_  and that children who don’t have them get their growth stunted, which is apparently a scientific fact.

Pride is still learning his letters. He’s doing very well, though. He opens up the book, and aims the flashlight at the pictures first, though. He likes picture books the best. Mythal says he must outgrow them, but he doesn’t really want to. This book has good pictures; big sprawling ones of angry wolves and armed elven warriors, and  _Arlathan_ , back before it became like it is now. He nudges Curiosity, and distracts her from her argument with Morrigan.

“Can we read?” he asks.

“Okay,” Curiosity says. “But you hold the flashlight. Morrigan keeps shining it in people’s faces.”

Morrigan looks decidedly unrepentant about this.

“Blinding your foes is a valid tactic,” she says.

“We’re not foes!” Pride protests. “We’re friends!”

“Yup, best friends,” Curiosity agrees.

Morrigan frowns.

“Well. Maybe you two are. Mother says I’m not to have friends, I’m to make alliances,” she asserts.

Pride’s nose wrinkles.

“What’s the difference?” he wonders.

Morrigan thinks about it a minute, raising her chin.

“The difference is… well. Obviously. Obviously, the difference is that friends are for little children, and alliances are for grown-ups. I’m very grown-up,” she assures him.

“You’re two months younger than me,” Curiosity counters.

“I’m mature for my age,” she insists.

“Want to be friends, though?” Pride asks, as he moves through the pages until he gets to the pictures that go with the part he likes best. The Story of Death. He pats the big picture of a white mask on the front, and then pushes it towards Curiosity.

Morrigan wavers for a minute, as Curiosity hands him the flashlight in return.

“…Yes,” she finally decides.

“Okay,” Pride agrees. “We’re friends! Now you don’t have to blind us.”

“And what do I get for that?” Morrigan wonders.

“You get to listen to the  _story,”_  Curiosity informs her, a little bit aggravated.

Morrigan looks down at the book. Pride watches as her eyes skim towards the big, scrawling letters of the title. He dutifully angles the light towards them, and her lips move as she silently reads them out. 

“Alright,” she agrees. “We can be friends.”

“Hooray!” says Pride, and shoves the flashlight towards her. “You hold this, and I’ll turn the pages. Curi bends them.”

“Not on purpose!” Curiosity protests.

“You still do,” he insists.

Morrigan takes the flashlight, and does aim it just at the book, though. And once she’s finished frowning, Curiosity begins to read.

“Once upon a time, Death was very lonely…”


	10. A New Home

Arlathan is a big city.

The second largest in Tevinter, it tends to trade-off with Val Royeaux in terms of population numbers. It is a city of glass, gardens, and magic. Gleaming skyscrapers mark the famous, iconic downtown areas, that in midday shine like the jewels in the centre of an opulent crown. The suburban areas are replete with vibrant local flora, and neighbourhoods that contest with one another for themes and grandeur and ‘back-to-nature’ luxury that is anything but. Sapphire pools, immaculate streets, and abundant greenery give way in the depths of the city’s streets to the ambiguously-termed ‘Grey District’, more bluntly identified as slums.

There the buildings turn to grey brick, and sparsely lit streets. Overcrowded housing blocks wedged in alongside abandoned warehouses and failed developments. Cold, chain fences, and frequent police patrols; dusty neon signs, dating back to old ‘renovation’ efforts that tried to install commercial districts and business that couldn’t really be sustained the way they were handled, and somewhere in it all, the notorious black market dealings and criminal underground that serves the interests of those living in the highest, brightest spires above it all.

Uthvir sleeps through most of the drive through the actual city.

Kel’s secured in the back, and Thenvunin is taking his turn driving, and they haven’t slept for three days, more or less. It catches up to them while the city is only a set of glittering lights in the distance, and they drowse for the drive through it all, and then back out towards one of the adjacent townships, to where Thenvunin’s mother’s house is. They miss seeing the construction site where Dirthamen’s brother-in-law is erecting a monument to his penis (ostensibly to his skill as an architect, but Uthvir has listened to Aelynthi rant about it often enough to know better), and Kel’s interested little burble at the glittering streetlamps, and the drive up to Mirena’s ‘mid-sized’ manor residence.

They wake up with Thenvunin’s hand on their shoulder.

“Vhenan. We’re here,” he says.

Uthvir’s brain takes a half second to catch up with them, and Kel – probably realizing that the soothing motion of the car has stopped now – promptly bursts into tears.

They get her inside, in a jumble of bags and parcels and Uthvir carrying her as Thenvunin prompts them through the hallways. They’ve been here but only once before, for a couple of days, and the house is fairly large. Larger than their mother’s. it’s part of an inheritance, they’ve gathered, or at least the original property was before several renovations either expanded it or downsized. They can’t remember which. There are servants but all of them go home for the night. Mirena is in Antiva, still, working for the next week.

The house is quiet. And huge. Almost to the point of making Uthvir miss their apartment, which had at least been small enough to keep track of.

But then they get into Thenvunin’s room, and that’s better. Floral and bird-themed and still ridiculous, but in a familiar way. Thenvunin’s room has his bed, and his indoor bird cages, and a small sitting area and a closet that isn’t a walk-in so much as a dressing room, really. It’s got pictures from college and a flat-screen television on the wall and a crib someone set up in the sitting area, and, interestingly,  _another_  crib that seems to be a kind of adjacent-to-the-bed thing, designed to latch right on to the side of it.

“I told our housekeeper we were coming, and he made some arrangements,” Thenvunin explains. He looks tired. Uthvir still feels tired, too. There’s a temporary change table in the bathroom, and they use that while Thenvunin goes to warm up some formula. The air is hotter than in Ferelden. Hotter, and muggier, with that rainforest atmosphere suffusing everything. Kel fusses more than usual, and Uthvir doesn’t blame her. But it gets better when they find the environmental controls for the room, and then set the television onto a channel that’s basically a fish tank with soft, ambient music.

She turns her head to watch that until Thenvunin comes back, and then her gaze fixes onto him. She’s smart, Uthvir thinks. She knows what to focus on in a room.

They let Thenvunin feed her, which is really just making trouble for themselves at this point because Thenvunin coos and brushes her cheeks and makes their own heart flip-flop in their chest when he looks after her. She eats easily, at least, and burps, but then there’s some more crying.  _Strange place,_  Thenvunin opines. Uthvir’s inclined to agree, but also tries changing her outfit into something a little bit lighter, in case she’s too hot as well.

When she’s finally settled down some, they tuck her into the odd little side-crib, and immediately they can see why this is a brilliant idea. She’s right there. Uthvir lies down and she can see them, and they can see her. They can reach out and rest a hand on her stomach, even, as Thenvunin settles onto their other side; and  _he_  can see past them to see her, too. He can roll over and stretch an arm over them, and join in the whole thing.

Uthvir doesn’t think they’ve ever seen her drop off more easily.

Uthvir doesn’t think, since they’ve had her, that  _they’ve_  dropped off more easily.

But they basically sigh and then they’re gone again. Surrounded by freshly laundered sheets and the faint scent of Thenvunin’s fading perfumes, the baby at hand and Fear finally shutting up for a solid set of hours. Relenting enough that their sleep is steady, and dreamless, and easy.

The next time they wake up, it’s because they’ve managed to pin Thenvunin’s wrist uncomfortably against their hip. They shift around, and get it free without breaking up his snores too much; and then they check, and are surprised to see that Kel is awake.

Wide awake, judging by her eyes. She sees them looking at her, in the dim light of the room, and kicks her legs a little bit. One of her soft baby sounds escaping her.

They raise a finger to their lips.

“Shhh,” they whisper. “Sleep, baby.”

She opts to grab at their fingers instead. Which is also fine. Uthvir wonders if they should get up; but she doesn’t seem upset, and Thenvunin’s sleeping. Everything is warm and soft, and they know she’ll cry if she needs something. She seems happy enough just to have everyone where she can see them, and watch the patterns from the distant, still-on television set cast blue shadows across the ceiling.

They let out a breath, double-check that their nails are soft, and doze.

~

They get an early start to the morning just the same, when Kel finally decides she’s had enough of being peaceful and contemplative and gets back to the business of crying, and Thenvunin jolts awake like a startled deer and fusses over her in return. Uthvir’s the one who takes her down to the kitchen for breakfast in the end, though, as Thenvunin tends to his pets. They meet the housekeeper – an older, grey-haired elven man with three children of his own, who keeps enthusing over his new grandson, Leto – before people really start turning up.

Aelynthi and Victory are the first.

Thenvunin is burping Kel while Uthvir takes a shower; and when they get back out, Victory is holding their baby and looking like he wants to cry, and Thenvunin and Aelynthi are talking about nurseries and watching the whole thing with rather fixed attention. Aelynthi looking like he’s trying not to visibly feel feelings about Victory holding a baby, and Thenvunin looking like he’s trying really hard not to visibly worry. Probably because Victory is doing a fine job of holding Kel, so there’s no reason to, but Victory is neither Thenvunin nor Uthvir, so he’s worrying anyway.

Uthvir gets it. They’re not irrationally worried over it either.

“You are so little,” Victory is telling Kel. “Tiny, little baby. Look how small your fingers are!”

He brushes his own over one of her little fists, and Kel looks up at him with what is probably just an inquisitive baby-stare. But apparently Thenvunin reads it as self-consciousness.

“You’ll get bigger, sweetheart, don’t you worry,” he says. “Not that there’s anything wrong with staying small, either.”

“Definitely not,” Victory agrees. “Aelynthi is small. And Uthvir, too! She’ll probably take after Uthvir, I suppose, with genetics.”

“Maybe not,” Uthvir reasons. “My father’s side tends to be tall.”

“Quit calling me  _small_ , I’m average, you ludicrous giant,” Aelynthi murmurs, for his own part.

Thenvunin decides that this talk of height and appearance is bad for the baby’s developing morale, however, and sweeps her out of Victory’s arms. His shoulders relax just a little bit once he’s holding her again, and she makes a few little baby noises at him, and grabs his shirt.

“You be however tall you want, Kelvallastheneras,” he coos at her.

Aelynthi looks at Uthvir.

“You let him name her?” he asks.

Uthvir shrugs.

With the baby safely ensconced with Thenvunin and their gushing friends, they wander off – within listening range – to get some other things sorted out. If they’re going to be staying in Arlathan, they’ll need to find work. Their last job had more or less gone up in smoke during the initial debacle of baby-acquisition, but they’ve planned for a lot of career versatility, and there are always opportunities for skilled mages in Arlathan. They fish their laptop out of the mess of luggage they dragged in last night, and start going through the job hunting channels, and pressing some of their connections.

Thenvunin’s year off has been interrupted, which they feel a twinge of guilt for. Before Uthvir accepts anything, however, they’ll need to have a conversation about… more of this. How much baby care Thenvunin wants to be responsible for, and if they need to hire someone. How long they’ll be staying in his mother’s house for, if Mirena has set a limit on these things, and if they want to find another place in the city. Uthvir does, they think. But Thenvunin might prefer to stay here. Or move between locations.

They can work it out, regardless. He’s more or less co-adopted Kel, with the name he gave her. There’s some paperwork that they have to fill out in Tevinter, Uthvir knows, for all the legalities to line up, but Serahlin can help with that. She’s well worth any fees she charges as a consultant.

And, conveniently, she turns up around lunch time, along with Adannar and a basket full of gifts.

Serahlin is the one who asks the question that Thenvunin seems a little uncomfortable with broaching. In private, as Adannar takes a turn to try and help feed Kel, and Victory and Aelynthi leave to go and get some take-away. It’s almost a party, Uthvir thinks. Like a baby shower, except that the baby is present.

“I found a news article on your cousin. Possession?”

They let out a long, weary breath.

“Her mother, yes,” they allow. “Alden wasn’t a mage. Near as I’ve gathered there were a lot of labour complications. They couldn’t afford a mage hospital, not in the Free Marches, and it seems the one they went to hadn’t done their homework. They gave her some painkillers afterwards that inhibited her perceptions of reality.” Next thing anyone knew, her flesh was distorting and she was choking the life out of her lover. Terrifying, and by some accounts she tried to  _eat_  the baby, though Uthvir’s not certain how much they credit that part of the story. It seemed to come mostly from the hospital security staff who shot her fifteen times.

Serahlin’s quiet for a moment.

“Children tied to those kinds of incidents are usually a lot harder to home,” she says.

“Mm,” Uthvir confirms.

“There are higher odds of them being mages, and even if they’re not, a lot of people are still superstitious enough to think that they’re cursed or some other ridiculous thing,” Serahlin carries on. She glances at them. “You taking her in probably saved her a lot of suffering.”

Adannar makes faces at Kel, and she reaches up and grabs his nose, as Thenvunin finds a soft cloth and wipes some of the formula off of her.

One possessed parent for another.

Uthvir sighs, and shrugs.

“I don’t like abandoning my responsibilities,” they reason.

“Ah, yes,” Serahlin agrees. “That’s a much better explanation than you just being an incurable softie.”

They give her a sidelong look, and roll their eyes when she just laughs at them.

“As if you have any business flinging such accusations around. How many dogs do you and Adannar own now?” they counter. Serahlin is unrepentant about her own weaknesses, however. After a few minutes the conversation actually manages to turn to the topic of her own early-stages pregnancy. Which, without fail, gets Serahlin beaming and enthusing over the nursery designs and discussing what she also thinks Thenvunin and Uthvir should do, and apparently there are certain colours that help promote calmness and serenity in infants.

Serahlin has swatches.

She’s going to e-mail them some samples.

They’re musing internally on the strange fickleness of fate when Victory and Aelynthi get back, along with Elanna, who is carting a box full of baby-safe homemade bath products and whose freckles seem to absolutely  _fascinate_  Kel.

By the time evening rolls around, Thenvunin’s mother’s house is full of people, and Uthvir has managed to actually take the baby and retreat without anyone seeming to really notice. Even though the visiting is, ostensibly, for the purposes of baby-gushing. But still. There will be plenty of time to make introductions, and Kel looks a little bit like she’d care to be finished with them now. In their opinion, anyway.

It could also be gas.

She doesn’t complain when they take her off to Thenvunin’s room, however, and sit down so that she can see some of the bird cages from their chair, and watch them hop around as Uthvir rocks her.

They think about her mother. Strangling her lover. And trying to…

In their mind’s eye, they can’t really picture their little-seen cousin, or the woman they’d glimpsed only once, in a photograph. Instead their mind insistently replaces the figures with themselves and Thenvunin. With a monster and the man they love, and everything coming apart because a hospital couldn’t be assed to do their homework. Because a mage said  _yes_ to the wrong voice.

In a way, they suppose they’re lucky. They already said their yes’s long ago, and more or less survived Possession Roulette.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’re okay,” they promise. “You’re okay.”

Her eyelids slip shut, as she rests safely in their arms.


	11. Happy and Healthy

He looks down at the tiny baby in his arms, grinning a bit stupidly at her tiny form.

“Hello, little Kel. I’m your uncle Adannar, or Addy, whatever is easier for your little mouth to say when you’re you know, talking.” The baby stares at him, eyes wide and watching his face very intently.

He watches her back and presses a small kiss to her forehead.

“You know your auntie Serahlin, my wife, is pregnant right now. She’s gonna have a baby too. Oh maybe she’ll have a little girl, just like you. That would be fun! Having another girl around. I think Serahlin would like a little protégé for her womanhood.” He watches her some more and she wraps her fingers around one of his.

He sighs dramatically, gently rubbing her tiny knuckles the pads of his.

“A boy would be fun too, I can teach him all sorts of stuff. And you guys could balance each other. But who knows, maybe they’re them and that is all. Which would be good too.” His expression softens and he snuggles her just a bit closer.

“As long as they’re happy and healthy like you, beautiful girl, I’ll be happy.” He kisses her forehead again and she coos back at him, seemingly in agreement.


	12. Baby Acquisition

Starkhaven is hauntingly beautiful. The buildings are tall and glistening in the rain, streetlights reflecting off of marble statues on every corner. Obnoxiously opulent, really. It is colder here than at home, and Selene wraps her coat more tightly around herself. The tower may be gone, but it is still a chantry favoring city, after all. An elf warming herself with magic would only invite trouble.

  
She had been asked to speak at a conference at the local university about her latest work; discrete mathematics as related to Combinatorics and its potential for cyphers and long term applications in every day life. It had gone well, until a troublemaker in the back row asked about the potential dangers of mages gaining the ability to speak in magical codes without repercussions, and oh so helpfully asked if it was something she participated in herself, “ _as a Dalish mage_ ”.

Other questions had gone off topic after that, even as she tried to rally it back to the topic they were supposed to be there to discuss. By the end, she was back to lecturing about mathematics again, but Selene felt drained. Dirthamen is waiting for her back at the hotel, after a meeting of his own with a contact in the city (though she suspects he had largely been nervous about her traveling to the city on her own, and made it as an excuse. She can’t say she’s not thankful to have him here now though).  
  


The rain is coming down harder as the storm surges, and a chill runs up her spine. Her boots and socks are both soaked through already, after too many too deep puddles. She really didn’t miss the Free Marches.

  
She’s snapped out of her bitter nostalgia when she hears the sound of babies crying. She glances around. There is no one else on the street in this downpour. No open windows that she can see. Curious, she follows the sound, and finds herself at the backdoor of the orphanage. 

There is a large cardboard box sitting on the steps, where the sound is coming from.  It sits directly in the shadow of the Chantry building. Because of course it does.  
  


Selene waits a few moments before approaching, her hand clenching and unclenching nervously at her side. Someone is going to come for them. Someone is just pulling the car around. Getting them somewhere safe. Certainly not abandoning them to an already overfilled orphanage.  
  


Time passes.  
  


Nobody comes.

  
She dashes towards the box, and two small round faces with pointed ears stare back at her as she falls to her knees next to it. Her pants are soaked now, too, but it doesn’t matter. They’re moving. That’s a good sign, right? She lifts them carefully out of the box, one in each arm, and rocks them gently, making soft shushing sounds and humming.  
  


It is still raining.  
  


As quietly as she can manage, she carries them into the chantry and out of the storm.  
The torches in Andrastes hands are lit, lining the walls and reaching all the way to the arched ceiling. And though it is not her religion by any means, Selene nods her head politely towards the sister near the entrance. She sniffs her nose up at her, but when Selene drops a few bits of currency into the donation box, she leaves her well enough alone.  
  


Ok. Selene takes stock of her situation as she sits down in the pews, laying the babies down beside her.  
  


Ok.  
She’s soaking wet. She’s in a chantry. She has two babies.  
She has two babies.  
…She has babies.  
  


’ _You’ve got to be kidding me._ ’ Des chimes in flatly.  
’ _You’re always telling me to give in to my desires. I’m surprised you don’t approve_.’  
’ _Yes, but I mean doing kinky stuff in the bedroom, smoking some elfroot, telling your mother-in-law to shove it from time to time. Not taking orphans in from the street._ ’  
’ _They need a home._ ‘ 

’ _ **Ugh.**_ ’

She will have to tell Dirthamen. He has the rental car, right? They don’t have any carseats, though. Or cribs. Or diapers.  
  


She will have to make a list.  
  


One of the babies begins to cry again, and Selene picks them up, singing to them quietly, as they echo through the cavernous building.  
  


A Brother approaches her before long, a pair of warmed bottles in his hands, and he offers them to her. She eyes them skeptically, but Des assures her after a moment that he is genuinely trying to help, and she accepts them with a polite thank you, while she feeds the one who is already crying. He lifts the other, and her instinct is to snap and take them back, but he cradles them gently, and offers them the other bottle, which they accept eagerly.   
  


Lashing out at a brother in a chantry, in the middle of Starkhaven, would probably not end well for anybody, she thinks. Least of all her children.  
  


Her children.  
She really needs to call Dirthamen.  
  


“We don’t get many Andrastian elves with Vallaslin, even this close to the reservations,” the man notes, voice lilting with a heavy accent.  
Selene hesitates before answering. “We needed shelter from the storm,” she evades.  
“The maker leads us all to where we are supposed to be with a gentle hand,” he recites, pulling the bottle back for a moment to allow the baby to breathe, before lowering it back to them.  
Selene resists the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m sure that is a very comforting thought for you.”  
“It is,” he confirms with a slight nod.  
  


Selene eyes the man warily, before taking the baby back from him. He speaks with her quietly, and she evades answering any specifics about herself or the children. He seems kind, and she relaxes around him before long. His organization may be awful at times, but it does not condemn every person affiliated with it, she reminds herself.  
  


A Sister strides towards them, finger raised in accusal at Selene “Thief!” She screams.  
Selene blinks, and tries to tamp down on her panic as the man beside her stands.  
“What is all this, then?” he asks as he stands, calmly placing himself between them.  
“There was an empty box left on the steps of the orphanage! There was a note buried at the bottom, claiming there were to be two elvhen children This woman is a thief!” she screams again, looking pointedly over his shoulder and at Selene for her last statement.  
“And is it not possible that an elvhen woman could give birth to elvhen children? Will you accuse every elf you see with children of stealing them? Perhaps you are merely tired, Sister.”  
“I- don’t give me that nonsense, Sebastian! Get out of the way!”  
  


He puts his arm out instead, further blocking the woman from moving towards Selene, who is clutching the babies closer to her chest while they coo and grab at her still damp hair.  
“Serah,” he asks, turning his head to Selene “Am I correct in presuming those are your children?”  
Selene nods, without hesitation. “Yes.”  
  


Sebastian smiles as he turns back to the Sister “You see? You must be mistaken then. Surely the wife of an  _Evanuris_ ,” he stresses towards the sister, whose eyes widen “would never do such a thing.”  
She stumbles at the name drop, eyes darting between Sebastian and Selene “I-I didn’t hear anything about a pregnancy in that family,” she argues.

  
“We kept it quiet,” Selene lies “To avoid paparazzi, and media attention. Bad for a pregnant mother to stress, you know.”  
  


That part’s true, at least. Serahlins pregnancy means she knows what is  _supposed_  to happen.  
  


The sister still looks skeptical, but must decide it’s more trouble than it is worth to fight the two of them over two abandoned elves, and simply bows before heading back out.  
  


Selene lets out a breath of relief, and looks up at Sebastian.  
“Thank you,” she says.  
“Yes, well. Tell your husband we’re even now for me, hm?”  
Selene nods, and remembers then that she still needs to call Dirthamen. She glances up at the stained glass windows, and notes that the rain seems to have stopped.  
“I don’t suppose you have a stroller around here?” she asks, but Sebastian shakes his head.  
“All of our donated children’s supplies go immediately next door. I believe the department store on the corner carries them, if you’d like me to escort you.”  
  


Selene contemplates it, and ultimately agrees. Attempting to balance two babies down the street, plus shopping for a stroller without the use of magic sounds like a recipe for disaster, at best.  
Sebastian escorts her like a gentleman in all his white clothed glory, helping her balance the babies while she picks up a double stroller, diapers, wipes, bottles, formula, and everything else she can think of an immediate need for and still be able to carry back to the hotel. She mentally debates how precisely she is going to break the news to Dirthamen (whom she has still not called), and asks Sebastian how he knows her husband.  
“Our families have done business together,” he smiles.  
Selene knows enough by now not to ask for any more specifics. 

He offers to take her back to the hotel, but she declines, and thanks him again. The babies fall asleep for the walk back, s she thinks more on how best to broach the subject to Dirthamen as she pushes them all the way into the elevator.

Taking a deep breath, she knocks on the door of their room before letting herself in backwards, pulling the babies behind her.  
  


Dirthamen stands from his laptop to greet her, and then freezes at the sight before him.  
“Those are babies.” he manages, after a moment of stunned silence.  
Selene nods “Yes.”  
“Are they yours?”  
“They’re ours. I hope.”

  
He swallows then, and steps around the stroller to look at the sleeping infants. He reaches out to touch them, but stops before accidentally waking them, and nods.  
“Yes. They are ours. Have you called Serahlin?”  
“I thought I should tell you first.”  
He is still staring at the pair, seemingly in awe. “Thank you.”

Selene sits down on the bed as her exhaustion threatens to overtake her, letting Dirthamen take his fill of watching their children.  
Their children.

  
They’re parents now.  
  


Okay.


	13. Dirthalene Babysits

Dirthamen reassures Thenvunin for the seventeenth time that they are more than capable of adequately seeing to Kel’s needs, as the man finally relinquishes hold of said toddler to Uthvir, who, in turn, hands Kel to Selene.

The baby girl is dressed in a zebra print dress, with pink baubles in her hair. She gives Selene a long assessment, before craning back to look at Thenvunin.

“Be good, da’vhenan,” Thenvunin tells her, and Dirthamen suspects that kindergarten will be a very harrowing experience for him. “Papae and Nanae love you so much. We will miss you until we get back!”

“Don’t cry yet, it’ll frighten her,” Uthvir reminds him, quietly and not ungently, and Thenvunin manages a smile instead.

“Bye Pa!” Kel says, cheerfully.  “Na!”

Her small hand opens and closes in a creative approximation of a wave.

Uthvir moves in to kiss her cheek, and Thenvunin does the same, before his spouse gently-but-firmly redirects him towards the door. Again.

“Thank you for taking her on such short notice,” Uthvir says, mostly to Dirthamen. Probably so that Kel will not think they are talking to her, instead; she tends to assume that anyone looking in her general vicinity while speaking is vying for her attention. Darevas is much the same, thought Felasel is considerably more shy.

“It is no trouble,” Dirthamen assures them. “She can stay the night, if your flight is delayed.”

“It had better not be!” Thenvunin frets. “But we packed her-“

“Yes, her favourite sleeping toy, and blanket, we know,” Selene interjects, amused but also a bit done with the man’s fussing, Dirthamen thinks. She has a high threshold of sympathy for it, normally. But things are getting to be a bit much. Uthvir nods, and prods, and finally manages to get their husband out through the door.

“Call if anything happens, there are-“

“Thenvunin, babe, they have all the same emergency contacts and the same pediatrician that we do,” Uthvir reminds him. They nod at Dirthamen, and manage another ‘thanks’ and ‘goodbye’ before finally closing the door.

Kel regards it for a moment.

“Pa?” she asks.

Dirthamen is fairly certain he hears Thenvunin making an aborted scramble to get back inside the apartment. Including his voice hissing something akin to ‘she’s calling for me’ and Uthvir replying, with indeterminate words but a very soothing tone. There is a pause. Then the sounds  of footsteps moving away, muffling into silence as they get out of range of the apartment entrance.

Kel frowns, before Selene bounces her a little.

“Well, now that  _that’s_  settled,” she says. “Want to play with the twins?”

The toddler’s face lights up, and she claps.

“Ya! Dabas! Fel!” she exclaims. Then she launches into indecipherable baby-babble, and Selene coos back at her and carries her into the nursery. Dirthamen watches them for a moment, a smile lifting the corners of his lips, before he goes to get several snacks ready for later in the day. The twins exclaim at the return of their mother, and their cousin, and he hears one of the musical books they own begin to chime. The sound fills up the apartment as he opens up the fridge, and begins dismantling several ingredients for a lunch platter. He may as well do dinner prep at the same time, he thinks, and gathers up those ingredients as well.

Dirthamen’s phone vibrates.

The number is from Thenvunin.

_Do you have apple-flavoured crispy-o’s?_

Dirthamen pauses. That is not a brand of cereal he is familiar with, so he suspects not. A quick double-check of the cupboards reveals this is an accurate assumption.

_No._

There is a brief wait.

_What kind of cereal do you have? Kel likes dry cereal for snacks but she is very particular._

The lack of smiley faces, exclamation marks, or text slang from Thenvunin is almost unnerving. Dirthamen is beginning to think that Uthvir should have let their husband drive. And then he considers, and supposes that might have led to too many attempts to turn the car around. So perhaps it was wiser, on balance.

_We have oat flakes, cherry bursts, and corn pops._

He slices up some small pieces of carrot as he waits for a response.

_Those will work,_  Thenvunin decides.

Dirthamen considers the matter settled. But he has barely gotten back to the task of food preparation when his phone vibrates again. He is not wholly surprised to see Thenvunin’s number once more.

_What is she doing right now?_

Dirthamen reminds himself that his own anxiety levels are fairly high whenever he has to fly out of the country, and leave the twins even just in Selene’s care. He has endeavoured to keep such instances as few and far between as possible since they became parents.

_She is playing in the nursery with the twins,_  he says.  _She has been sufficiently distracted from your absence._

_Did she seem upset that we left???_   Thenvunin wonders.

It is almost a relief to see the three exclamation marks.

_She seemed momentarily concerned. But then we distracted her,_  Dirthamen replies, honestly.  _Now she is identifying animal sounds from a pop-up book._  He is not wholly certain, on that front, if she is engaged with the book sounds he can hear from the nursery. But it seems a safe assumption.

That must be a satisfactory response, because the texts halt for long enough that Dirthamen is able to get the lunch prep finished, and stowed away in the fridge, where Selene will be able to more easily grab things and throw them together for the meal. He heads towards the nursery, then, which is safely sectioned off from the hall by a soft, magic-friendly baby gate.

Selene is sitting in the middle of the room, with the big pop-up book open. Kel is in her lap, and Darevas appears to be demonstrating how the book works, as his mother claps and Kel imitates the book’s sound effects. Felasel is sitting snuggled up to Selene’s side, but when he sees Dirthamen, he gets unsteadily to his feet and toddles over to the gate.

Dirthamen scoops him up, and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Too loud?” he checks.

Felasel shakes his head, though. That’s good. Normally the book’s sounds are simple enough that they do not bother him. It is still very touch-and-go with television shows, at the moment. Darevas notices his brother’s displacement, then, and looks over and sees Dirthamen. He babbles a happy greeting. Kel reaches over to smack one of the book’s pop-up parts, but Selene catches her hand in time.

“No,” she says. “Gently, sweetheart. Gently.”

That appears to be a word which Kel understands very well, as she nods, and then reaches back for the pop-up of a bear with a much lighter touch.

Dirthamen steps over the baby gate, and settles himself in with Felasel in his lap, while Selene asks Darevas if he would like to flip the page again. Kel decides that  _she_  would, however, leading to a brief dispute, before Selene settles the matter by having them both do it.

His phone vibrates.

_What is she doing now?_

Dirthamen sighs.

_Still reading the book._

Felasel looks at the flicking screen, and reaches out to poke it, before Dirthamen carefully lifts it out of his reach. He calls up the bubble game on his phone, instead, and then holds it in place as Felasel makes a happy sound of recognition and immediately sets about popping the bubbles, summoning up soothing chime music.

Eventually the other two toddlers in the room decide that this is more interesting than the pop-up book, and make their way over. Felasel is good at sharing, however, and does not seem to mind when more tiny figures crowd around and start popping bubbles along with him.

Another text from Thenvunin crops up. Kel hits it, but as this only summons the text screen, it is not a disaster. Darevas and Felasel protest the sudden absence of the bubbles, however.

“One moment,” Dirthamen says.

_Does she seem alright? Is she smiling or does she look sad?? Like she thinks her parents have abandoned her???_

He looks at Kel, who, in absence of the bubble game, has started tugging on Felasel’s fairy-patterned shirt. Trying to see the designs, it seems.

_She is assessing the fashion of her peers with what seems to be genuine interest._

“Oh. Bird,” Kel observes, and then nods in approval.

_She approves of Felasel’s fairy shirt,_  he adds. He opts not to mention that she seems to have mistaken the pattern. There is no need for Thenvunin to know that, and it may inspire some degree of concern in him. Also, it is an understandable error. She probably thinks that anything with wings is a bird. Darevas has reached a point where anything small and furry is a ‘kitty’. He will learn to properly categorize felines as he gets older.

_Which shirt? Send pic pls!!!!_

Dirthamen takes a photo of Felasel.

“Wave, da’vhenan,” Dirthamen encourages, with a smile, and his son dutifully complies. And then Darevas and Kel decide to wave, too, and so after a moment, Dirthamen takes a picture of them, and sends it as well.

_Thank you!!_

There are sufficient emojis and several hearts with this text.

Dirthamen will take that as a good sign.

He restarts the bubble game, but only Felasel is still interested in it, now. Darevas decides that he is going to show Kel his toy collection, instead, and Selene takes the opportunity to reiterate the importance of Sharing With Children Who Are Not Felasel to him. Which is a lesson that is taking him some time to process, it seems.

But the time lunch rolls around, Thenvunin has sent only ten further texts, which is an improved rate. Dirthamen finds that pictographic evidence of Kel’s continued well-being is the most effective response, and so after a while, he uses it almost solely in reply to Thenvunin’s questions. He takes photographs of her and the twins eating lunch, and of her and the twins playing ‘run around the living room and crash into all the cushions and safety bumpers there’, and of her and the twins napping.

Dirthamen has always taken occasional pictures of his children. But he has never before fallen into the trap of obsessive over-photography.

He is beginning to see the appeal. His sons are very cute. Having a day of activities more or less catalogued seems like a notion worth occasionally indulging in.

Selene figures out his motivation fairly handily.

“Is he asking what exact temperature we run our baby baths at?” she asks, jokingly.

“Not yet,” Dirthamen says, because that would not actually surprise him. Their voices are quiet, as the toddlers nap on a big, soft blanket in the middle of the living room floor. Felasel is in the middle, with Kel and Darevas on either side of him. Kel has her stuffed bird squished up by her neck, and Darevas has decided to nap with his fire truck again.

It is only after nap time that Kel seems to become concerned with the situation.

The twins wake up first, and have to relieve themselves, so Selene takes them to the training potty in the bathroom. Kel wakes not long after, and in lieu of her distractions, and with her nap finished, decides at once that she wants her parents, now. She does a thorough assessment of the living room, and calls ‘Pa’ and ‘Na’ a few times, before sitting down and promptly bursting into tears.

Dirthamen scoops her up.

“It is alright,” he tells her. “Hush now, your parents are fine. They are not here, but they have tasked us with looking after you. You are safe.”

Kel does not stop crying.

Dirthamen considers. Then he sends a quick text to Thenvunin.

_Send a picture of yourself, please._

There is a brief delay, before the picture comes, followed by a flurry of concerned questions. Dirthamen puts off answering them in favour of showing Kel the picture.

Her crying stalls.

She sniffs, and then presses a finger to the surface of the phone. Thenvunin is in an airport, having landed safely, with Uthvir’s shoulder visible in the photo beside him. Kel pats at his face, as her mouth trembles slightly.

“Pa,” she notes.

“Correct,” Dirthamen confirms. “He is safe, and so is your Nanae. See? That is their shoulder.”

Kel nods, yes, it seems, she surmised as much. She moves a hand to her mouth.

“Na,” she agrees.

“They are coming to get you later,” Dirthamen assures her. “For right now, Selene and I are your temporary caregivers. You are visiting with us, and we like that very much.”

Kel looks at him, and seems to consider this information.

“…Okay,” she manages. Still a little watery.

Selene and the twins return, then, and Dirthamen assists Kel with her own bathroom needs, and then it is cartoon time. Felasel does well enough with the pre-selected shows, before deciding he wants to play with his blocks instead. Dirthamen informs Thenvunin of the crying, as honesty seems to be a better policy, and the man phones him on the landline and asks if he can give the phone to his daughter.

Kel happily exclaims over hearing him, and her nanae, and babbles at them before Darevas demands a turn at the receiver. The exchange more or less turns into a game of telephone, except not play-pretend, as Thenvunin indulges both children (and himself, Dirthamen suspects) before he has to go.

The evening seems to progress well enough from there. Selene retreats to answer some e-mails, before Dirthamen has to go and deal with several work-related issues on his own computer. Kel has another upset, he hears, but Selene manages to handle it, and keeps up a sufficient set of distractions until bed time. Thenvunin and Uthvir are running late, but still anticipate arriving before midnight, so Dirthamen helps put the twins to bed, and then he and Selene settle quietly onto the couch with a sleeping Kel, who naps in the middle cushion until her parents come.

Dirthamen is almost surprised that Thenvunin does not break down the door. But then again, he has always been considerate of other children, and the noise would disturb the twins’ rest.

He still manages to scoop up his daughter while she is in the process of waking, however, barely exchanging cursory greetings before peppering her with kisses, until she babbles in sleepy acknowledgement, and then almost immediately drops off onto his shoulder again. Uthvir is more reserved, as ever; but they keep close, and as they leave the apartment, they have a protective hand settled on their husband’s back. And Dirthamen thinks he spies them kissing Kel’s tiny hand.

When the door closes behind them, Selene lets out a long breath.

“Three babies is a bit much for me,” she decides.

“Fielding Thenvunin’s separation anxiety is also a somewhat tiring experience,” he agrees.

Selene snorts, as they settle back onto the couch together. They keep an ear on the nursery; but there are no sounds of stirring. It has been an active day, Dirthamen thinks, with the three children running around and exciting one another. And sound-proofing wards mean that noises from the front door cannot be heard in the nursery; a measure he had implemented rather soon after they had brought their children home.

Selene shifts around at his side, somewhat, before sliding down, and curling around his lap.

“We’re alone, now,” she notes.

Dirthamen pauses.

“We are,” he confirms.

“And Thenvunin’s finally stopped texting you,” she adds.

“He has,” he agrees.

“The twins are asleep,” she additionally muses.

“So it would seem,” he allows.

One of her hands slips over the waistband of his jeans, and trails across it, before fiddling with the button of his fly.

“Hmm…” Selene says. “Whatever shall we do with ourselves now…?”

There is a creaking sound from the direction of the nursery.

They both pause. Dirthamen’s arm slung over Selene’s back, and Selene’s fingers still curled around the button of his fly. Another creak, and then the distinctive sound of one of Felasel’s ‘bad dream’ sniffles. Dirthamen lets out a long breath.

“Wait, he could just be-“ Selene begins, but then cuts off as there’s another sniff, courtesy of the baby monitor.

She lets out a breath.

“Okay, you or me?” she asks.

Dirthamen leans down, and kisses the top of her head.

“I will get them sleeping again,” he promises. Because when one twin wakes up, so does the other.

“We might as well go together,” Selene reasons. “It works faster when we do, anyway.” She gives his abdomen a pat, and kisses him through his shirt. And then she looks up at him, with a certain spark in her eye.

“And then maybe we’ll go to bed ourselves,” she suggests.

Dirthamen brushes her cheek, smiling.

“That would seem prudent,” he agrees.

Maybe this time he will manage not to fall into an exhausted heap of unconsciousness before they actually engage in intercourse, too.


	14. Costumes

Serahlin’s costume parties are a sight to be seen.

It’s not often that Uthvir has attended an actual highbrow Arlathan function; let alone one being thrown by a friend. But apparently there’s a holiday in Arlathan, they vaguely recall, that dates back years and years, and basically just seems to involve everyone doing the whole ‘masquerade’ song and dance, with a lot of sweet foods and children running from door to door, soliciting candy from strangers.

Uthvir doesn’t really think the latter practice is… sound. But apparently Serahlin agrees, because a month ago she announced that everyone was to bring their little ones to their party, where there would be plenty of food and drink but virtually no strangers.

And it is nice. There are some people Uthvir doesn’t really know, but for the most part, everyone is at least vaguely recognizable. Friends and friends-of-friends. Little Ileth spends most of the night sleeping on his father’s shoulder, dressed up in a hat with puppy ears on it. Selene and Dirthamen bring the twins, who are done up like tiny dragons, and don’t really leave their double-wide walker much. Vena, Ana, and Tasallir show up with their new daughter Isabela, who is surprisingly  _not_  dressed up like a piece of fruit - she’s a little squirtle. Uthvir’s going to credit her mother for that one.

The adult costumes are, of course, a little more elaborate. Victory is some kind of ancient warrior, with what Uthvir suspects is  _entirely accurate_  costuming. Selene and Dirthamen are also dragons, like their sons, but definitely of a more dangerous-looking sort. Serahlin is a very convincing vampire queen. There’s a lack of tasteless abomination costumes, which is nice. The only think approaching that is one of Adannar’s work friends, who comes as a Rage spirit; but it’s meant to be an actual spirit, by the looks of it.

Uthvir gives their daughter another vaguely apologetic look, as they shift her into a more comfortable hold, and carefully help her eat one of the cookies on the buffet spread. Her peacock costume is adorable, but its also very cumbersome, and they don’t really blame her for perpetually trying to squirm out of it. Thenvunin is making for a very graceful-looking swan prince as he snipes with Opera Phantom Tasallir about the relative tastefulness of various costumes.

Uthvir, of course, has gone as the scariest thing in the room - themselves.

Kel is busily getting as many crumbs as she can onto her costume, and Uthvir would think it was purely accidental but she’s a clever little thing. They’re not going to underestimate her.

“Na,” she says. “Nomo clo.”

This is a phrase that is short, but which she has nevertheless mastered, and most accurately translates to ‘get me the hell out of this Thing that Papae just stuck me in’.

Uthvir brushes some of the crumbs off of her, and does her the half favour of pushing her iridescent little green-and-purple hood back.

“It’s just for a little while longer,” they say. “Want to go play the apple game?” Serahlin set up a variety of entertainments for the little ones.

Kel shakes her head, though, and rests it against their shoulder.

“No ducks,” she says.

Uthvir has no idea what she means, but they tut consolingly and rub her back anyway. Is there a game with ducks? They’re not sure. Thenvunin had her over there earlier. They sway a little bit, and when Kel decides she doesn’t want another cookie, they move away from the buffet table.

She’s just starting to get to the concerning level of fussiness when Melarue approaches them.

Uthvir blinks.

So does Kel, for that matter.

They hadn’t been certain that Aelynthi’s nanae was even in attendance this evening, though on balance and considered Mirena’s own interest in coming, they suppose it’s not really a surprise. No. The  _real_  surprise is their outfit; a cascading train of peacock feathers, with a matching headdress, bejewelled just here and there with a few gemstones, and a long, shimmering gown.

“Well,” Melarue coos, and Uthvir tries very hard not to remember when they were much, much younger, and the famous movie star had greeted them in a very similar fashion. “Look at this little princess! I can scarcely believe it, but you have out-dressed me, haven’t you?”

Kel smiles, and reaches over towards Melarue.

“Andana,” she greets. 

Melarue smiles, and glances to Uthvir for permission. Which they grant with only minor reluctance; if Melarue wants to subject their outfit to grabbing toddler hands, well. Uthvir will just be close enough by to intervene in case of disaster.

Kel doesn’t quite manage to do any damage to Melarue’s costume, though, despite having very grabby little hands. She looks particularly cute, they can admit, nestled in the arms of a more glorious and expensive sort of peacock. Melarue grins and makes a few faces that Uthvir is not entirely certain they are conscious of - babies have that effect on people, as it happens - and make much out of Kel’s ‘matching’ outfit.

The distraction works wonders.

By the time Thenvunin wanders over, Kel is giggling, and Melarue looks like their own mood has improved, too.

“Pa!” Kel greets, however, and immediately makes grabby-hands at Thenvunin.

“Hello, da’vhenan. Hello, Nabae,” Thenvunin says, directing the latter to Melarue as he reclaims their daughter.

Melarue leans over and kisses Thenvunin’s cheek.

“Thenvunin, my dear, you look lovely,” they enthuse. “But I must protest. How can any peafowl compete with your little hatchling?”

Thenvunin beams, as Kel lets out a breath and leans her head on his shoulder.

“I would have warned you, had I known,” he says.

Melarue sighs a little deliberately.

“It seems there’s nothing for it but to pick up the pieces of my shattered image, and try to move on,” they declare, winking at him, and nodding to Uthvir. Then they give Kel’s cheek on last pat, before heading back into the party proper.

Uthvir lets out a long breath, as Thenvunin moves up beside them.

“Having fun?” he asks.

“It’s not bad. I can think of more entertaining things to do with you and costumes, though,” they reply, and earn his ‘not in front of the baby’ look. Kel seems to have progressed from fussy to sleepy, though, so after a few minutes more, they take her over to little play area, with all the walkers and carriers and some soft toys. Adannar has taken over baby-minding duty, it seems, and happily accepts her from them, securing her into her little walker to nap. Probably until it’s time to go, Uthvir suspects. They eye the clock, and then reach over and take Thenvunin’s hand.

“Care to dance?” they ask.

Thenvunin smiles.

“With pleasure,” he agrees.


	15. Glory and Kel

Kel is nearly five when her parents get married.

Grandmamae is still not feeling her best, and as Kel understands it, she wants to help design a pretty dress for Papae to wear and get married in. Kel knows what married is. There’s a special episode on her favourite show, the Wonderful Hour, that explains all about how people who love each other like to get married, and how there’s different way’s to do it, and sometimes just two people get married, but sometimes there’s more, and sometimes elves marry other elves, or they marry humans, or dwarves, or vashoth, or everyone mixes and matches because the person you like best might not be just like you. And everyone has a big party and they say ‘I love you’ and live happily ever after.

But Kel is confused, because she thought everyone was already married. Papae and Nanae and Uncle Aelynthi and Uncle Victory and Aunt Serahlin and Uncle Adannar and Aunt Ana and Uncle Vena and Aunt Selene and  _everyone_. And Nanae tells her that she’s not wrong, but they just haven’t gotten around to the fancy party yet. Which makes sense. Sometimes people have to  _reschedule._  

So they’re going to have a fancy party, and invite a whole bunch of people, and Papae is going to wear a beautiful dress and Nanae is going to kiss him lots probably. Kel gets a pretty dress, too, which is nice. Grandmamae makes that one as well. Kel visits her and she looks thinner than before, but she still hugs her tight and shows her pictures of the dresses she’s making. One for Papae and one for Kel.

“What about Nanae?” she asks.

“My friend is making something for your Nanae,” Grandmamae says. “It’s going to be all beautiful. I’d do it myself, but I’m still very tired from being sick. So they’re helping me.”

Kel nods in understanding. 

Her dress looks like Papae’s, but tiny and pink. Pink isn’t Kel’s favourite colour, but she likes it. And she knows  _decor_ , because the grown ups talk about it a lot, and that means that everyone doesn’t just wear favourite colours, they have to wear ones that ‘go together’. Grandmamae wants to make sure she goes with Papae and Nanae, because Kel belongs with them.

“Can Screecher come to the wedding?” Kel asks.

Grandmamae shakes her head a little bit.

“There will be a lot of strangers at the wedding. Well, strangers to Screecher, anyway. I think they would just get very upset and confused, don’t you?” she says.

That makes sense. But Kel feels bad about Screecher not being in the wedding, so before they go home, Papae helps her give Screecher some pretty ribbons to put in their nest. That way they can celebrate, too.

When they get home, Nanae is there. The three of them have snacks together, and Nanae tells Kel that some people are going to be visiting for the wedding. People that Kel met when she was really, really tiny - too tiny to remember. But she’s seen them in pictures, and Nanae shows her some pictures again, and their names sound familiar.

“That’s my older sibling, Glory. They’re your  _bibi_ ,” Nanae says, pointing at the one who looks like them. “And that’s their wife, Desire. But we all call her Squishy. She’s your aunt.” They point to the beautiful lady, who looks all warm and soft, next to Glory.

“Okay,” Kel says.

Nanae shows her another picture.

“This is my mother,” they say, and the lady in the picture looks a lot like Glory, and a lot like them, too. “She’s going to be coming as well. But she’ll stay at a hotel. Bibi Glory and Aunt Squish are going to stay here, with us, in the spare room.”

“Okay,” Kel says, again. “Do they have any kids?”

Nanae smiles.

“No, they don’t have any yet. They’re still deciding if they want to be parents or not,” they explain.”But they like children. They liked you a lot, when they first met you. They’re excited to see how big you’ve gotten.”

Kel puffs up her chest, and stands on her tiptoes.

“I’m huge!” she asserts.

Nanae snickers, and pats her head.

“They’ll be impressed,” they promise.

“Do you have any siblings, Papae?” Kel asks, then, turning away from the photographs. Her Papae blinks, and then he looks a little sad.

“I have a sister,” he tells her. “But she’s not coming to the wedding. She’s very busy with her schoolwork.”

“Oh,” Kel says. “Do you have a picture of her?”

Papae frowns a bit, but then he lifts a finger and gets up and goes into his room. When he comes back, he has a photograph with him. It isn’t on the phone, like Nanae’s pictures. It’s a little plastic square, and there’s a man who looks like Papae in it, and a girl who does, too.

“She sent me this on her last birthday,” Papae explains. “That was almost a year ago, though. But that’s what she looks like. And my father, too. They live very far away.”

Kel holds the picture carefully, and looks up at her Papae. She thinks she would be very sad if Papae lived far away from  _her._  Even just the thought makes her feel really bad.

“How come?” she asks.

Papae looks at her, and then scoops her up into his arms.

“Because he wants to live far away,” he tells her. “But that’s okay, sweetheart. I don’t ever want to be that far away from you. Don’t you worry.”

He swings her a bit, and Kel laughs. And Nanae lets her look at some more pictures, of Bibi Glory and Aunt Squish.

Bibi Glory looks  _lots_  like Nanae.

Except not, too. They look like Nanae but also like a movie star. And Papae’s sister looks like him, and so does his own Papae. Kel frowns a little, thinking again as she looks at the photos. Papae doesn’t look very much like Grandmamae. But he looks like  _his_  Papae. And Nanae looks like their mother.

Kel glances up at her parents, and then toddlers over and looks at her reflection in the living room television set.

After a few minutes, she goes back into the kitchen. Napae is washing the dishes. She climbs onto the stool next to them, and they give her a star-shaped sponge to play with.

“Nanae,” she says. “How come I don’t look like you or Papae?”

Most kids look like their parents, she thinks. The twins sort of don’t, but Ileth does. 

Nanae pauses.

And then they lean over, and kiss the top of her head.

“Because of genes, baby,” they say. “You don’t have any of Papae’s genes, so you don’t look like him. You have some of the same ones as me, but you have others, too. So you look different, because genes are what decide how people look.”

Kel blinks.

“Okay,” she says.

Then she puts down her sponge, and goes into Papae and Nanae’s room. She finds some of Papae’s jeans, and tries to put them on. They’re really big, though, and they don’t change how she looks, even when she manages to go and check in the big mirror. And then Papae comes in, and asks if she’s playing dress-up.

“Nanae said I would look like you if I had your jeans,” she explains.

Papae’s eyes go all big, then, and he swallows a few times, before he sits down on the floor with her.

“Why do you want to look like me, da’vhenan?” he asks. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world.”

Kel shrugs. She thinks about all the colours that go together.

“What if people at the wedding don’t know I go with you?” she asks. What if she’s not  _decor?_

Papae looks surprised.

“Who would ever think such a thing?” he asks. “You go  _perfectly_  with us! Anyone who says differently must be blind. If anyone tries it, you can just point them my way, and I will tell them precisely how well you fit with Nanae and I.”

Kel giggles at how firm Papae is being, and he gently pulls her away from his jeans.

“I’m the luckiest Papae in the whole world, because I get to see different kinds of beauty when I look at you, and when I look at Nanae,” he tells her, and cups her face, and rubs his nose against hers. “I wouldn’t change one thing about you. Not one.”

She giggles again, as he insists on telling her all about the things he likes about her, and then decides that they’re going to brush each other’s hair and pick out some pretty things from the closet, and take Nanae out to dinner tonight. Just the three of them, before the ‘madness’ happens.

Kel wonders how fun Bibi Glory and Aunt Squish are. Usually, she’s found, the amount of fun in any given person is relative to how much Papae frets about them before Kel meets them. But this time Papae’s fretting is different. She can’t really put her finger on  _why,_ though. 

It means she’s really interested to meet her relatives, though. She has to be patient and wait a few days, and then Nanae goes to the airport while she’s sleeping, and so Kel doesn’t get to see them until she wakes up in the morning. Then Papae goes and gets her, and she gets to see the people from the pictures in real-life.

Aunt Squish is awake first. She’s very round and soft, and she has pretty hair like Papae, and makes a big show of having troubles picking Kel up. Because Kel is big and strong and probably going to ‘bench semis’ when she’s all grown up - she doesn’t know what that means, but it’s funny. Aunt Squish asks about her favourite animal and her favourite colours, while Papae helps cut her omelette.

When Bibi Glory comes out of the guest room, Kel goes quiet.

Bibi Glory looks like Nanae. For a second she almost thinks they  _are_  Nanae. But their hair is pale, and long, and their eyes are very blue. Like ice. And Kel doesn’t know why, but all at once she thinks that Bibi Glory is  _scary,_  that it’s like someone stole Nanae and replaced them with the evil robot version, and she drops out of her chair and hides under the table, and grabs Papae’s legs.

Aunt Squish looks down.

“You okay, squirt?” she asks.

“Uh-huh,” Kel says.

“You want to come out and meet your bibi?” she asks, after that.

Kel shakes her head. Papae looks down at her, and tells her it’s alright. Nothing bad’s happening. 

“Where’s Nanae?” she asks.

“They went to go get the mail,” Papae tells her. “They’ll be right back.”

There’s a pause. Papae brushes her head.

“You can wait until they get back if you want, da’vhenan.”

Kel nods, and listens as a voice like-but-not-like Nanae’s talks. And after a few minutes there’s some shuffling around. Aunt Squish stands up, and then the not-Nanae voice says “I heard there was a little girl around here who likes dragons”.

Kel likes dragons.

But this is a  _trap._  She musters her fortitude and stays where she is, hanging on to Papae’s legs. Where it’s safe.

“I wonder if that little girl would like a toy dragon,” Not-Nanae says, consideringly. “Gosh, I really would like to meet a little girl who likes dragons. That would just make my day, I think. I’d be so happy.”

“It’s a trick,” Kel whispers to Papae.

Aunt Squish snorts.

“It’s safe, da’vhenan,” Papae assures her. But he looks a little proud, too, which means she guessed right. She’s just not in any danger, because he’s here with her. She stays where she is a few minutes more, even as Not-Nanae asks if there are any girls who  _also_  like phoenixes.

Phoenixes are  _magic_  birds.

Kel is wavering when she hears Nanae’s voice.

“What’s going on here?” they ask.

“Kel is hiding,” Papae explains.

Nanae’s shoes appear next to the table.

“Hmm. What’s she hiding from?” they ask.

“Me,” Bibi Glory says, in their not-Nanae voice.

There’s a pause, and then Nanae looks down at her under the table.

“Why are you hiding from your bibi, sweetheart?” they ask her.

Kel just shakes her head, and then shrugs.

“Shy?” Nanae asks.

“…Maybe,” she allows. Sometimes when things scare her, and she hides from them, that’s what grown-ups call it. So maybe it’s that. Nanae smiles at her, and reaches out their hand.

“It’s okay, baby,” they say. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. You can just sit with me and Papae, okay?”

Kel considers this. But she’s a lot less worried about Bibi Glory now that Nanae’s here. It’s harder to think they might be a robot, for some reason. So she nods, after a minute, and scooches up alongside Papae; who lets her sit in his lap, and pulls her omelette plate over for her to finish. Nanae sits down next to them, and so does Aunt Squish.

And Bibi Glory looks at her, and then carefully sets a toy dragon, and a pretty red phoenix stuffy, down on the table.

“I held you when you were a baby, you know,” they say.

Kel looks at them uncertainly.

It’s probably mean to be scared of someone because of the colour of their eyes, she thinks. Like when the Wonderful Hour was talking about how sometimes people  _look_  scary, but things like eye colour or skin colour or ear shape are really just superficial.

“Hi,” she manages.

Bibi Glory smiles.

“Hi, Kel,” they reply.

They’re not so bad, maybe.

But Kel still hides her face in Papae’s shirt.

 

~

 

Glory’s not sure if they want children.

But they’re pretty sure they want children to  _like_  them.

Definitely not… hide under tables from them. Which, admittedly, isn’t a common reaction. One of their coworkers has a toddler he brings to work sometimes, and that baby  _loves_  Glory. Always reaches for their hair and everything.

Kel looks like she thinks Glory might be secretly plotting to murder her entire family, and it’s only the reassurances of her parents that is allow her to tentatively concede that this might not be the case.

“What the f-fringle did I  _do?!”_  she asks Uthvir, while Thenvunin’s busy getting Kel ready for the day.

“I don’t know,” Uthvir replies, frowning a little. “What  _did_  you do?”

“Nothing!” they snap.

“Well. Okay. If you’d actually done something Thenvunin probably would have been stringing you up when I got back,” they concede.

“And I wouldn’t do anything to a baby!” Glory feels compelled to point out.

“And you wouldn’t do anything to a baby,” Uthvir also allows. Then they sigh. “Kel’s… she gets startled, sometimes. She’s probably just shy because of your overwhelming beauty or something.”

“She grew up with you and Thenvunin, how is she not used to it?” Glory counters.

Uthvir looks a them.

“What?” the demand.

“Glory, please, you’re like a fifteen out of ten,” they say. “Don’t get me wrong, Thenvunin is easily a ten, but you’re a force of nature. Just - be nice, and she’ll come around. She’s very intuitive.”

Glory makes a face, and then fidgets. Why doesn’t their niece like them? She’s their niece. They held her when she was a baby! They send presents. Sometimes. They think.

…Shit, it’s been a few years, hasn’t it?

“Does she cry a lot?” Glory wonders, worried. They’re… they’re not good with crying. Especially crying that can’t be easily fixed. This has come up in discussions on the subject of children, with Squish. Babies cry, and Kel’s still a baby, right? She seems little enough, anyway.

“No, she just hides, unless she’s  _really_  scared,” Uthvir says. “And you’re not going to be required to deal with her crying. That’s my job, and Thenvunin’s. Just be nice. Like I said.”

“But I  _was_  nice!”

“Be  _consistently_  nice over a long period of time!” Uthvir says, amused, now.

Glory narrows their eyes.

“You’re enjoying this,” they accuse.

Uthvir snorts.

“You being flustered? Yes. My kid being scared of you? No. I don’t like her being scared at all,” they say. “But especially not her being scared of somebody she might depend on, one day, if some disaster manages to befall Thenvunin and I. And her godparents. And her auxiliary godparents.”

“Squish and I would look after her even if she hated us!” Glory argues, folding their arms.

“Yes, but that wouldn’t exactly be easy on anyone, would it?” they counter. Then they hold Glory’s gaze for a minute, before shrugging.

“She likes white chocolate chip cookies, the new Star Wars, and her favourite colour is green,” they say.

“She’s resistant to bribing,” Glory complains.

“She’s  _four,”_  Uthvir counters. “Trust me, her willpower is impressive but still pretty finite. Worst comes to worse, we can head out to the lake and you can show her your wings.”

They look a little antsy at the thought. Glory’s got no idea why. Before they have time to dissect it, however, Thenvunin and the girl of the hour re-emerge. Kel’s got bumble-bee shaped clips in the little pom-poms of her hair, and is wearing a striped dress.

It is ridiculously adorable.

She gives Glory an uncertain look.

“Sorry’f I was rude,” she says, before hiding her face in Thenvunin’s leg.

Glory kneels down a bit.

“That’s okay, sport,” they offer. “Maybe we can get some cookies and watch some Star Wars later?”

Kel offers a tentative nod.

Well.

Baby steps are associated with babies for a reason, they suppose.


	16. Perfect

The bed is soft and the light streaming in from the window is soft and there’s a soft dip in the mattress that is definitely not Vena, or Taz. Elanna pulls the blanket back slightly as Isabela tries to pull herself up on the bed. Tiny hands grip the sheets and Ana sits up to pull her child on the bed with her. Perfect, she thinks. This is perfect.

“Good morning da’vhenan. Are you here to wake me up?” Ana says softly. Isabela shakes her head and wraps her arms around Ana’s neck. Just a hug then, she thinks.

Tasallir comes in not long after, dressed his suit and tie. His hair is perfect, his outfit is perfect, the man is just the definition of perfect. He strides into the room and scoops Isabela up in his arms. Ana stops him before he goes too far.

“Perfect,” she says, and smiles as Tasallir’s face colors the smallest bit. He brings his palm to rest on Elanna’s forehead.

“Venavismi says you’re not feeling well,” he says. Ana nods as he retracts his hand. “I’ve left some medicine on the counter and be sure to eat and drink water.” Ana nods again. “Fix your hair, too.” She snorts at that.

“Yes, yes. What would I do without you to make me beautiful, I wonder.” Taz doesn’t respond. He simply walks out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Ana sinks back into the bedsheets and pulls the covers over herself. She can open the shop late today. It’s just a little bout of dizziness, sleep will help.

She awakes again to a dip in the mattress and Vena’s hand on her back. She sits up and faces him as he retracts his hand.

“All set to go to work?” She asks.

“Yeah, all set. You okay, banana?” Ana nods, and the dizziness returns and a bout of nausea accompanies it. “Stay home if you really need to,” Vena says. Ana protests, telling him that she has a lot of work to do at the shop.

“I’ll just open a little later today, it should be fine. Besides, Aelynthi is coming by. I don’t want to miss him,” she reasons. Lunch with her friend has become a rarer occurrence and she’s been looking forward to seeing him for weeks. Vena brings his hand to brush her hair behind her ear.

“If you say so,” he says. “Text me if there’s anything you need. Taz will be picking up Isabela today so I’ll come home early, if you need—“ Ana stops him from continuing by pushing a finger to his lips.

“Vhenan! It’s okay,” she says and she can feel him smile against her fingers before she retracts them. His thumb moves gently against her cheek and he leans forward to kiss her when her fingers are back against his lip. “No, I don’t need you getting sick, too.”

“So no kiss goodbye? Where will I get my daily dose of potassium?” he says.

“ _Vena_ ,” Ana says as she pokes him. He’s wearing that ridiculous tie with the bananas. Not that she’s any better. She still wears the banana necklace he gave her in college. His breath catches and his face flushes when she takes his hand and kisses his pulse.

~

She sends everyone off for the day, and takes the medicine Tasallir left for her on the counter. It isn’t much help because not long after she’s bent over the toilet. Ana feels better after so she begins to get ready for work. She throws on a plain t-shirt and a cardigan to go over it and a long skirt and packs her bag. She pauses when she sees an unused tampon sitting at the bottom. When was the last time, she wonders.

Ana sits at the table as she scrolls through her phone before opening the application she’s looking for. Flowers and butterflies decorate the front page of the application when she logs on and the term  _17 days late_ flashes at her in decorative script. She wishes there were no flowers on there. Ana loves flowers, but this isn’t exactly flowery business. She taps her foot against the floor and closes the app, opens it again and the same  _17 days late_  greets her. Ana does this 3 more times. She sighs as she puts the phone down, picks it up, puts the back down, and picks it up again to scroll through her contacts before she holds her finger over Vena’s name. She scrolls up and down, pausing at certain names.  _Serahin, Selene, Tasallir._

Ana’s foot taps faster before altogether stopping completely.  _Only when I know for sure,_  she decides. Perhaps it’s the stress. Isabela has just started school, and she remembers how difficult that can be. Yeah, it’s stress for her daughters sake. Ana unceremoniously shoves her phone into her bag and grabs her keys from the hook by the door and sets out to work. There’s a drug store close to the shop.

~

Elanna buys four tests. Four different brands and only two possible results. When she unlocks the door to her shop she quickly disappears into the back to check. She takes the first test and waters her plants while she waits.  _Positive_. Ana takes the second test and begins harvesting some crystal grace while she waits.  _Positive_. She takes the third test and begins soaking the blooms in olive oils and covering them in cheese cloth to make grace oil while she waits.  _Positive._  Finally the fourth test. She waits in the tiny bathroom in the back, anxious, as she fidgets.  _Positive._

Ana brings her hands to her stomach. She is a mess of nerves and she doesn’t even know what she should be feeling. Excitement? But what if Vena and Tasallir don’t want another child. They already have Isabela, and she is perfect. What if Isabela herself doesn’t want a sibling? Elanna can feel her heart racing. She’s already a mother, and she loves being one, but she didn’t give birth to her daughter. Perhaps she’s incapable and something horrible will happen, and they won’t get a baby at the end of it. She could die, or even worse, her  _baby_ could. She’s hugging herself tightly now, and the bell chime of the front door being swung open snaps her out of her train of thought.

“Ana?” They call.

Aelynthi, she remembers, and she rights herself to greet her friend.

~

The two drive to a new restaurant in the city. It’s one of those fancy Tevene joints that is normally  _way_  over Ana’s budget. They are led to their table and provided with a drink menu which she skims over and sets down.

“Does Tevene wine sound good, or would you rather something Antivan?” He asks. Ana shakes her head in refusal.

“I’m not drinking, but you go ahead and order what you want,” she tells him. Aelynthi raises a brow at her.

“Well, if you’re not drinking I won’t either,” he says. “I hate drinking alone.” Ana smiles. The line brings about a bout of nostalgia. “Is there a reason for this sudden dry spell?” Aelynthi asks from behind his glass of water. Ana taps her finger against the table and hums, contemplating.

“Don’t tell anyone, okay? I found out literally before you came into the shop.” Aelynthi raises a brow and realization dawns on his features. He’s always been quick to pick up on hints.

“No way, you’re pregnant,” he says quietly. Ana can’t help smiling. Somehow she’s excited despite her fears. He’s smiling too, now.

“Like I said, I haven’t told anyone yet, so you can’t either,” Ana says as she wags a finger at him in a very motherly fashion, she thinks. She retracts her finger quickly. “Honestly, I’m terrified. I don’t know, I’m a weird meld of different emotions right now. I’ll have to tell Vena and Tasallir tonight,” she sighs. “Wish me luck.” Aelynthi raises his glass of water to her as a toast and she raises her glass to  _clink_  against his.


	17. News & Reaction

It’s Vena’s turn to put Isabela to bed tonight.

Vena would happily put Isabela to bed every night, except that they all mostly would, so, turns are taken. Isabela’s a little ball of energy tonight, running around and crawling under the furniture, playing with her ‘treasures’ and hiding them behind books in the bookshelves, and underneath Tasallir’s china hutch.

But it’s bed time, and when Vena finally catches her, she squeals in excitement and giggled protests and tries to squirm right out of his arms.

“Babae, no!” she protests.

“Babae  _yes,”_  Vena counters. “It’s time for all good little princesses to be in bed.”

“I’m not a princess! I’m a pirate! Arr!” Isabela insists. She’s wearing her mermaid crown, with her hair all fluffed up around it.

“Okay, well, pirates also need to sleep,” Vena tells her. “Go give Papae and Mamae their goodnight kisses, and then I’ll read you the mermaid story again. But if you run off and hide, then no story. Got it?”

Isabela looks up at him with big, wide eyes.

“I wouldn’ hide,” she says.

“Uh-huh,” Vena replies.

He’s not  _totally_  surprised when he ends up having to fish out from underneath Taz’s bed. Or at least, starting to, before Tasallir comes in and folds his arms, and Isabela dutifully crawls out herself. How he does that, Vena will never know. It’s not like he’s ever so much as raised his voice at her. But he just looks  _disappointed_  and somehow Isabela goes right to contrite.

Well.

In fairness, Taz’s disappointed face works pretty good on Vena, too.

“Did you kiss Mamae?” he asks Isabela, as he hefts her up again.

“Mamae’s in the bath time,” she tells him, so they go and knock on the bathroom door, and Ana comes out after a minute and makes faces at their baby girl, and gives her lots of kisses. She ends up coming along for the tuck-in train, and turning on the nightlight while Vena explains to Isabela that  _no,_  she’s not getting the mermaid story. She ran off and Vena’s being Firm about this, but she can have an extra hug, yes. And then he’s got to gently pry her arms off of him, and Ana has her do her breathing exercises to calm down, and finally she settles in.

There’s always a grace period after tucking Isabela into bed, though, where they have to wait and listen and make sure she doesn’t get back up again.

Ana settles in with Vena on the couch while they do this, and Tasallir disappears into his room-slash-office to answer some leftover work e-mails. It’s quiet, and peaceful, and it takes about ten minutes for Vena to hear a telltale  _thump_  and the padding of little feet, and the creak of Isabela opening her toy box. He gives her a few minutes of successfully sneak-playing, hoping it’ll help her burn off her excess energy, before he kisses Ana and gets up and puts their little rogue back to bed.

That ends up taking him a little longer than expected, because he caves at her big brown eyes and reads her the mermaid story.

By the time all’s said and done, it’s about forty minutes past bedtime, but Isabela’s finally conked out. Vena heads back into the living room, and checks briefly on Tasallir – still typing away – before slumping onto the couch.

“She finally out?” Ana asks him.

“Mmhmm,” he confirms, flopping into her lap. It’s a good lap. He wraps his arms around her, and lets some of the day’s tension bleed out of him. It was Quiet Reading Day in Isabela’s class at school, Tasallir explained, which means the teacher probably spent the whole time trying to get her to sit still. And mostly succeeded, because of course Baby Bela came home with more energy than she knew what to do with.

“I’m thinking we should consider getting her an after school activity,” he says. “Maybe dance lessons or something?”

“Isn’t she a little young for that?” Ana asks.

Vena already had three after-school classes back when he was her age, but he has zero intentions of modelling his parenting style after his own childhood experiences. He’d like Isabela to still talk to him when she’s thirty.

“Maybe,” he allows. “We can talk with Taz about it tomorrow, I guess. Just to think about. She’s got so much energy.”

“She does,” Ana agrees, and starts running her fingers through his hair. Vena hums, happily, and nuzzles at her stomach. He pauses when she gasps a little.

“Banana?” he checks, tilting his head up to look at her. He hasn’t done anything particularly gasp-worthy, he doesn’t think. Did she get hurt somewhere? Is she still feeling sick? She looks back down at him, and bites her lip a bit. Her fingers still brushing through his hair. After a couple of seconds, she clears her throat.

“Speaking of stuff we should talk about with Taz,” she says. “Maybe we should have a conversation tonight, too. I’ve… got some news.”

Vena frowns, a little worried now. That’s not really her ‘I found a winning lottery ticket and we’re going to be able to take that vacation to Rivain early’ tone of voice. But it’s also not her ‘I got stabbed in an alleyway walking home’ voice, either. And if she wants to talk to Tasallir, too…

“Should I go get him?” he offers.

Ana hesitates, just a little. But then she nods.

Vena brushes a tentative kiss to her cheek before he climbs off of her, and goes and knocks softly on Tasallir’s door. Taz looks up from his computer, frowning just slightly.

“Is Isabela still misbehaving?” he wonders.

“Nah, she’s out like a light,” Vena assures him. “But Ana wants to have a chat about something.”

Taz nods in understanding, and says he’ll just be a few minutes. He wanders back out to the couch, only to find that Ana’s gotten up and is making tea. Or. Actually, she’s making hot chocolate, he notes. Not her usual go-to, especially  _after_  Isabela’s gone to bed. But he doesn’t say anything about it, as he settles in at the kitchen table. Tasallir emerges a few minutes later, looking only slightly less than perfectly impeccable. He’s tied his hair back into a loose ponytail, and changed into his ‘leisure clothes’. Ana kisses his cheek and hands him a mug of hot chocolate, and sets one down in front of Vena, before taking a seat with her own.

There’s a pause, while she gathers her thoughts. Or maybe her nerve. Tasallir sips his hot chocolate, and Vena watches as she more or less just warms her hands with hers.

When she looks at him, he gives her a reassuring smile.

“What’s up?” he asks.

Ana sucks in a breath, and then blows it out in one long go.

“I’m… this morning I realized I was late,” she says.

Vena blinks, and raises an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah. You weren’t feeling well,” he replies. That was pretty obvious, and not a secret, he thought.

“I mean…  _late,”_  she tells him.

“You’re pregnant,” Tasallir says.

Vena almost chokes on his hot chocolate, and Ana’s cheeks go pink. She glances at Taz, and then back at Vena, and takes another deep breath.

“Yup,” she agrees.

Taz nods.

“I suspected as much,” he says. Which is not what Vena is expecting, because  _what?_

“How?” he demands. Ana looks a little surprised, too.

“Bathroom supplies,” Tasallir tells him, as if it should be obvious. “And our weekly budget receipts. Elanna should have replenished her feminine hygiene stores two weeks ago, but she did not. And she did not replenish them this week, either. It is possible stress or an undiagnosed medical condition is to blame, but given the regularity with which the two of you copulate, I was hoping pregnancy was the answer.”

Vena blinks at him.

So does Ana.

“…You were  _hoping?”_  she asks.

Tasallir nods, and smiles at her a little.

“I was,” he admits. “Isabela is getting older, and while infant care has its pitfalls, I think I would like to participate in raising another child. While it is still practical, especially. We have many of her baby supplies still, and the apartment next door has been empty for several months now. I have spoken, briefly, to the building manager, and it would be economically feasible for us to purchase it and expand into it. That would also afford us more guest facilities for visitors, and I could upgrade my closet space significantly.”

Ana just stares at him for a couple seconds.

“You have blueprints, don’t you?” she asks.

“Not yet,” Taz tells her, still with his little smile.

Ana stares at him some more, and then gets up and hugs him. A little more exuberantly than usual, but he seems to be expecting that. He pats her hair and folds his own arms around her, while Vena’s heart thuds and thuds against his ribcage, as realization dawns.

Ana’s pregnant.

Ana’s  _pregnant._

She lets go of Taz, and looks at him. Wavering and uncertain for a moment, as he stands up.

“You’re really pregnant?” he asks.

She nods.

“And it’s mine?”

She smacks his arm.

Okay, well. Yeah. Dumb question, he’ll concede. He takes advantage of her proximity to scoop her up, though, picking her up off the ground and spinning with her a little. He swears his heart feels like it’s going to fly right out of his chest.

“A baby banana!” he says. “Oh. Oh, Ana! Oh my blessed hearth goddess, that’s  _amazing!_ And we weren’t even trying. We must be super fertile!”

Ana smacks his arm again, and Taz makes a face. But his banana’s eyes are bright, too, and she looks like a weight has just come off of her shoulders. Vena puts her down so he can pepper her face with kisses, and then her lips. A baby. They’re going to have another baby. Isabela’s going to be a big sister. Oh, she’ll  _love_  that, she lives to boss around smaller children. And they’re going to have another little baby. They’re going to expand their fruit salad family, get a bigger bowl and everything.

“Are you two going to keep kissing?” Taz asks.

“Almost definitely,” Vena says, and Ana giggles, and leans into him. He obligingly folds his arms around her, while Tasallir stands up with his hot chocolate.

“I am going back to my room, in that case,” he says, though without any obvious grouchiness over it. “With everything confirmed I should get in contact with a few people. We can talk about it more in the morning, too.”

“Thanks, Taz,” Ana says.

He inclines his head, and brushes a hand over her shoulder, and then Vena’s, before he leaves. Which is basically his equivalent to throwing his arms around them, really.

Vena sighs, and tries to get his heart to stop racing.

Another baby.

He’s going to have to take an extra tribute to the temple with him tomorrow. Lots of prayers, that everything will go well. Pregnancies can be dangerous. But he feels that warm thrum of assurance that settles into him whenever he contemplates things like faith, and destiny. And he hopes it’ll be enough to help see them through.

Along with the best medical professionals they can find, of course.

“I love you, Ana,” he breathes.

“Love you too, vhenan,” she tells him, and snuggles in close.

 

~

 

Elanna’s morning routine hasn’t changed in years. In college she used to wake up as early as 5am, go on a quick workout, and come back in time to make breakfast and get some study time in. Weekends she would indulge in a an extra hour or two of sleep but still make her way out for a hike to gather samples or just enjoy the forrest. Ana figures her mornings are going to be much different from now on when she wakes up at her usual time and feels a bout of dizziness and nausea and has to lie back down.

The previous night had gone better than she anticipated. It was a feat to finally pry Vena off her in the end, even then it wasn’t for long because he insisted on sleeping curled around her body with a hand on her stomach.  _For protection,_  he said.

She wakes up later than usual and puts her hair up in a messy bun before checking on Tasallir who looks to be contemplating between a pastel yellow or emerald green. He’s standing by the bed, looking thoughtfully at the two ties. Ana knocks softly to announce her presence and he turns away briefly to acknowledge her. She comes up behind him and looks toward the ties as well.

“Green will bring out your eyes better,” she informs him. “They pastel might help with the highlights in your skin, however.” Taz hums, perhaps the decision is now slightly more difficult. The suit he has chosen for himself is a dark, close to black, navy blue.

“How are you feeling this morning?” He asks. Ana shrugs, indifferently.

“Besides the uncomfortable side effects of pregnancy? Alright, so far,” she allows. Tasallir lets out a breath through his nose.

“Well, we’ll be here for anything you need, Elanna,” he reassures. She knows Vena and Taz have always been there, but hearing it reassures her of that even more. Ana stands on her toes to give him a light kiss on his cheek.

“You’re sweet,” she says before she’s flat on her feet. She gives the ties on his bed another look. “I’d go with the green,” she says before leaving his room and closing the door fully. She checks the time and decides to get breakfast going.

Ana puts the coffee maker on and begins whisking some eggs together with milk and flour. It feels like a pancake sort of day. Vena comes back with the news paper under his arm. He sets it on the table by where Taz has claimed as his spot and gives Ana a quick kiss before disappearing into Isabela’s room to wake her up. A few minutes later and Isabela is sleepily making her way into the bathroom with Vena behind her. A few minutes more and she’s making the rounds to wish everyone a  _good morning_. It is the weekend so Isabela doesn’t have to be at school.

“Good morning Mamae,” Isabela says as Vena lifts her up and sets her on the counter.

“Good morning, Da’len. Are you going to help me with breakfast?” Ana asks. Isabela eyes the things pulled out on the counter and deems it acceptable and nods. Vena places a hand on Ana’s side, right above her scar, and pulls her in for a kiss before informing her that he’s going to go get ready.

“Don’t tell her without me,” he says quickly. Ana hums in affirmation while Isabela eats chopped up strawberries and banana slices.

“Don’t tell who what?” Isabela asks. Ana just pets her hair and tells her she’ll know soon enough.

Ana has Isabela help her set the table. Placemats, plates, glasses, and a flower in a small vase at the center. Ana puts out some coffee, a selection of fresh juices, and a jug of water. Tasallir emerges from his room, dressed and ready in his green tie and matching pocket handkerchief. She pours him a glass of water and sets Isabela down in her chair with a plate of freshly served pancakes and a glass of milk. Vena emerges then, his tie sits loosely around his neck and the top three buttons of his dress shirt is undone. Taz gives him a disapproving look as Vena sits down next to begin eating breakfast.

Once breakfast is done, Isabela is put back up on the counter while Ana begins to do the dishes. Tasallir is in the living room ‘fixing’ Vena’s tie.

“So, Isabela, how would you feel about a younger sibling?” Ana asks. The two men in the living room go silent. Isabela’s head tilts to the side.

“Like another cousin?” Isabela asks. “Can I meet them yet?”

“Not exactly like a cousin,” Ana says. She wipes her hands dry with a towel and pets her daughters hair. “Like… a sister or a brother. Kind of like Felasel and Darevas.” That seemed to confuse the girl more, Ana thinks. Vena and Taz are at her side quickly enough, and she’s grateful.

“What your mother is trying to say is that there will be another addition to our home, Isabela. You will be becoming an older sister.” Tasallir explains. Isabela’s eyes go wide and she looks from Ana to Vena to Taz as a smile spreads across her face.

“Where will they be coming from?” Isabela asks.

“From Mamae,” Vena replies quickly. Isabela’s gaze moves towards Ana’s body as Ana’s face colors slightly.

“Where from Mamae?” Isabela asks. Ana pets her daughters hair and begins to explain that the baby is very small right now and that as time moves on, the baby and mamae’s belly will get bigger. Isabela looks at Ana and those big brown eyes are filled with awe. The more she hears about her potential sibling, the more excited she gets.

Once Vena and Tasallir have left for work, Isabela spends the day making drawings and a second mermaid crown out of seashells and paper for the baby. Ana is filled with a warm feeling and she anticipates the arrival of their new family member more and more.


	18. Kiss, Kiss, Congrats!

Serahlin is already home when Ileth bounds through the door and gallops through the family room and into the kitchen, backpack and shoes still on as he hastily makes for the mudroom.

“Memae! Guess what!” The five-year-old exclaims.

“You…painted with frosting today!” She replies excitedly as she turns from the stove to hug her son. She kisses his head and holds him close for a moment, feeling him buzz with energy.

“No!”

“You…got to touch a fish!” 

“Uh uh!”

“Ah! Then what?” She finally asks and he giggles and turns until he smooshes himself against her and nuzzles at her belly where his little sibling to be is growing.

“Isabela’s gonna be a big sister! I’m gonna have another cousin!” He squeals. She freezes for a moment before grinning and hugging her son close. Adannar walks into the kitchen with a wide smile as he spies them. 

“Welcome home, vhenan,” she murmurs and he sighs in contentment, wrapping his arms around her. 

Serahlin kisses her husband’s cheek before looking back down at her beautiful son.

“That is very exciting!”

“Isabela said that the baby is really tiny and I told her that my baby sibling is also really tiny and and that we can’t really them yet but that’s okay, they need time to get big like us.” 

Serahlin nods, “That’s right! The baby is growing and getting nutrients from my body. And Cousin Isabela’s little sibling is doing the same thing in their Mamae’s belly.”

“That’s so weird!”

“It’s the circle of life, Boo.” Adannar says, moving around to scoop Ileth up into his arms.

“People who make babies are  _amazing_. Look at your Memae, isn’t she amazing?” Ileth squeals in his father’s arms but nods and clings to him.

“Papae!”

“Uh. Oh. Gravity…it’s…too…strong,” her husband mocks, slowly and strategically ‘dropping’ Ileth to the ground as he giggles and wiggles.

Serahlin gets into it and begins to slowly fall down as well, until she’s on the floor with her boy, pulling him into his lap and fixing his braid.

The night falls into their regular pattern then. They all work to get dinner on the table, even little Ileth jumping up and helping because he apparently enjoys it. But children get distracted and tired and he eventually winds up on the couch, watching ‘Dragon Tales’ until dinner is ready.

Serahlin puts him to bed while Adannar cleans the living areas, but he doesn’t fall asleep until three books later and a small talk about how he can’t wait for the babies to come. She kisses his forehead and turns on his aquarium nightlight before leaving his room.

She quickly turns to her planner and takes out a pen, writing in ‘Lunch with Ana’ for tomorrow.

**

Serahlin picks up two things of chicken fried rice before heading to Ana’s shop. They’re both in the first trimester and from Ileth’s excited speech, Ana has been experiencing her own bouts of morning sickness fairly regularly now. Serahlin’s has thankfully been relatively mild for this pregnancy, though she still cannot handle most artificially scented things, and event he smell of the street can be sometimes overwhelming.

No matter, she thinks as she parks in the lot behind Ana’s shop. She leaves her car and enters the store, the bell ringing and announcing her arrival. 

“I’ll be right with you!” Ana calls from the back and Serahlin takes the moment to examine some of the scentless options. Ah, a facial mask without any scents? Hmm. She may have to get this one.

Ana emerges from the back, her hair slightly askew but she is clearly already glowing the light of her pregnancy - at least, in Serahlin’s eyes. 

“Serahlin!” She greets cheerfully, walking over to hug her. Serahlin turns her head and kisses her friend’s cheeks, murmuring cursory Orlesian phrases in greeting.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I brought you lunch and I thought we could talk. Pregnant woman to pregnant woman?” Serahlin says as she pulls away, holding up the bag of food.

“Oh yes, thank you, I’m starving.” 

Ana changes the sign on her shop from open to closed with a note that she’ll be open again in hour, before ushering Serahlin into the back.

Once everything is situated, it seems to dawn on Ana that somehow Serahlin knows of her pregnancy without actually having informed her.

“How…?”

“The children like to talk, Ana. Ileth is very excited, by the way. And congratulations of course!” She gushes and Ana blushes.

“Thank you. This has been so overwhelming, and…unexpected. We weren’t trying or anything,” Ana says as she begins to nibble at her rice.

They weren’t trying.

Oh.

Serahlin smiles and nibbles at her own food, feeling somewhat…jealous, she supposes. It took over a year of trying with Ileth, and her current pregnancy is the result of in vitro. Her body just…and Ana is…she probably isn’t even thinking of how lucky she is, to just…get pregnant like that. To suddenly have a little baby growing inside of her without as so much a thought. 

But she throws those thoughts out - not everyone needs to struggle, or should. She would never wish the difficulties with fertility upon her friend. So she smiles and produces a list she had composed the night before.

“These are all the best doctors and midwives in the city. I’ve listed pertinent qualifications and noted which ones I use or have used in the past. I suggest going over this with Tasallir, I am certain he will have strong opinions on each one.” She hands the list over and Ana lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank the Creators, the men are already worrying about things like bleeding and do you know what the hell an episiotomy is? And prenatal care! I know I need that and,” Ana takes a breath and holds the list to her chest, “thank you.”

“Of course! You need to know these things! And you don’t want an episiotomy unless it is medically necessary. And bleeding can happen though it is a bit less common, if it happens, don’t panic, just go to the doctor immediately, it may be nothing. Prenatal vitamins are extremely important, I strongly urge you to pick one of these doctors soon so you can start those.” She gives her friend a reassuring smile and takes one of her hands in hers.

“Ana, you’re going to do great. You are already a fantastic mother, that’s the hard part. Pregnancy? Psh, don’t worry. Just…focus on the miracle of it all. You’re making a baby, a  _person_  right now, inside of you. And they’re going to have a bit of you and a bit of Vena and even a bit of Tasallir. Besides,” Serahlin’s grin widens as she leans back, “now we get to be belly buddies!”

Ana laughs and they continue to eat their lunch, talking about the future and babies and about everything Serahlin knows about being pregnant.


	19. Cold

_Elanna tentatively leads her parents and her uncle into the apartment. Vena and Taz are dressed nicely and Isabela runs toward Ana yelling “mamae!” Ana’s mother squeals in delight at the sight of Baby Bela and Uncle Varvin watches fondly as his sister picks up her grandchild. Ana begins the introductions._

_“Mamae, Papae, Uncle, this is Isabela. She is Tasallir’s, Venavismi’s, and my daughter,” Ana explains. “Vena, Taz, this is my family. My mother Varianna, my father Elohren, and Uncle Varvin.” Ana steps aside while pleasantries are exchanged. She thinks it’s going well, until she sees the sour expression on her fathers face. Her mother and uncle are busy doting on Isabela to do anything._

_Elohren looks at the two men, his eyes narrow and lips thin. His arms are crossed and his finger taps against his bicep. Vena clears his throat to speak, but Elohren cuts him off before he can start._

_“You boys are taller than me,” he observes. His voice is rough, and his lips pulled tight in a scowl. “Sit.” Upon his demand, Vena and Taz quickly take a seat on the couch. Varianna watches from her seat as Varvin stands up and leads Elanna into the kitchen to help her get refreshments ready._

_“What is Papae doing, Uncle?” Ana whispers. Varvin simply shrugs._

_“I would just wait and see, da’len,” he advises. Ana doesn’t argue. They get a few tea cups on a tray and listen closely to the goings on in the living room._

_“So, you said your name was Tasallir?” Elohren asks. Taz nods in affirmation. “What are your intentions with my daughter?” He demands. Taz clears his throat and sits up straighter._

_“Sir, your daughter has been a dear friend for a long time, now. I think she is extremely intelligent and kind and the perfect sort of person to help raise Isabela. As you have seen, Isabela herself is very fond of your daughter. My intension is simply to provide the best for her,” Tasallir answers. Eloquently as expected, Ana thinks. Uncle Varvin lets out a pleased hum._

_“I like him,” he whispers. Ana smiles proudly and slightly embarrassed._

_Elhoren hums, satisfied. His gaze moves toward Vena next. “And you, Venavismi, was it?” Vena nods, and gulps. Ana feels like there’s a pit in her stomach and she looks to her uncle, pleading to go put a stop to whatever her father is doing. Varvin simply smiles as he selects a favor of tea from Tasallir’s tea box._

_“Please, sir, call me Vena.” Elohren makes a disapproving sound and Vena clears his throat and loosens his tie. “Well, sir… you see, your daughter and I have known each other since high school, and well, we’ve known each other for a long time.” He takes in a steadying breath. “To be perfectly frank, sir, I love her. She is… my heart.”_

_Ana feels her cheeks color, and Varvin snickers next to her. Varianna’s eyes are bright, but Elohren’s eyes narrow. Vena doesn’t waver._

_“So you love her, huh?” Elhoren says. “I just have one thing to say. I don’t want you to lay a hand on my little girl.” Vena is scowling too as the two men stare at each other. Ana is about ready to bolt in and put a stop to it, when she hears her father snort. Vena’s face falls and looks over to Taz who is equally as confused. Varvin begins to snicker, and Elorhen lets out a loud, hearty laugh._

_“Elhoren,” Varianna scolds. “Stop playing tricks on the poor boys.” She’s smiling, too, though._

_“I am sorry Varianna,” he says between fits of laughter, “I had to try saying ‘don’t lay a hand on my little girl’ just once.” He clears his throat and looks towards Vena and Taz. “Oh, I’m sorry, boys. I know you must think I’m the biggest ass for behaving in such a way,” he says as he wipes a tear away. Varianna uses her hands to cover Isabela’s ears at the curse._

_“I don’t understand,” Tasallir says. “Isn’t a daughters partner someone a father should dislike?” Vena nods in agreement with Taz. Elohren simply shakes his head._

_“Why? Elanna chose you. Both of you. Who am I to stand in her way if this is what she wants. Besides, how terrible would it be for everyone involved if I were to denounce you? I would drive my own daughter away. Getting along is such a wonderful thing.”_

_They all settle into the living room while Ana and her mother play with Isabela. Elohren claps a hand over Vena’s shoulder and laughs while Uncle Varvin and Tasallir have taken_

_kitchen table. Varvin recounts old dalish stories as Taz listens with great interest. Books are exchanged, and Ana feels her mothers arms around her, comforting and warm. Just like she remembers._

_The dream shifts and suddenly everything feels farther away. Her mothers warmth is gone, along with her fathers laugh and her uncles soothing voice. Vena, and Taz, and Isabela feel further and further away. She’s cold and alone in the snow and she feels wet, sticky blood ooze from her body as the dream ends and the nightmare takes hold._

_~_

Ana shoots awake in bed. She’s cold and Vena’s body next to hers stirs awake after her. She thinks he’s saying something to her, but her heartbeat is too loud in her ears. She feels the scar at her side aching like it is a fresh wound, and she thinks she can feel the knife in her, still. She claws at it briefly trying to pull the infernal thing out when a bolt of nausea sends her throwing the covers off of her and rushing for the bathroom. Vena’s not far behind as she feels his hand rubbing her back. He’s saying things again, but she can’t hear him. Tasallir is standing in the doorway of their bathroom before long, and Vena sends him away on a task. To keep Isabela from waking up, she thinks. She’s still cold, and she wants nothing more than to get warm again.

When she’s done and sufficiently righted herself, Tasallir hands her a glass of water and some medicine. She takes it as she mumbles a thank you to him. His hand brushes her hair and she feels a bit of the warmth she craves. She apologizes to him before Vena takes her back to their room and into their bed. She’s still cold, and Vena’s arms are around her and his heartbeat is in her ear. He holds her tighter then, and she’s beginning to feel warmer.  _Please, please don’t take him away. Don’t take them away from me,_ she prays before surrendering herself to sleep.

~

Ana stays curled up under the covers the next morning. She comes out when she feels tiny hands in the sheets and helps Tasallir with getting Isabela ready for school. Ana does her daughters hair while Taz picks out an outfit. They pick out a shirt and shorts for her to wear and tell her that no she cannot go to school without pants. Ana still feels sick, but she thinks she should be fine. The midwives form her clan she contacted said that what she’s experiencing is normal and that it should pass in time.

Vena manages to take the day off to help Ana, and she feels bad. She apologizes to him, but he cups her face and kisses her. He tells her that he loves her and that apologies are not needed. He lays a gentle kiss on her nose as he whispers assurances to her, and her skin tingles. She is beginning to feel warmer, still.


	20. Mirena's Illness

Mirena gets the diagnosis a month after Thenvunin leaves for college.

It’s a strange feeling. She’d known something was wrong for a while, but she hadn’t… she’d just assumed it was something that could be  _fixed._  Between healers and doctors, with all the time she’s spent in hospitals, watching her tiny, weak little baby grow into someone hale and hearty, she had begun to think that barring sudden death, there was very little that modern medicine couldn’t repair.

But of course, there is. There are limits. And a body that turns on itself is the biggest challenge, as most healing still relies on the body’s own efforts to lay out a template for itself.

The doctors console her. New developments are happening all the time, and the ones that currently exist should be able to get her a few years, yet. In that time, something new could come along. She just needs to hold on, just needs to look after herself; follow instructions and meet her appointments, and she’s always been good at living up to most of her obligations.

She doesn’t tell Thenvunin.

This is the prime of his life. He’s free, he’s young, he’s healthy enough that he doesn’t have to stop and worry about it all the time anymore. She doesn’t want him stopping and worrying about  _her_  health, now. In a way, it’s almost good timing. She’d certainly never be able to keep it from him if he was still living at home, but with him off in Ferelden, it’s easy. Phone calls and e-mails and letters are easy. She’s always happy to talk to him, and it’s not hard to forget that there’s anything wrong when he phones her to talk about classes and campus and all the things he misses from home.

And since she’s not telling Thenvunin, it just seems a matter of course not to tell anyone, really. Her work hours have always been flexible, and it’s not like she can’t afford to retire, if she cares to. Melarue is off making a new television series, their own distraction in the wake of Aelynthi’s growing up, and most of her other friends are sociable but distantly so. The kind of people to have dinner with on occasion, or sometimes take to a show, and Mirena is nowhere near so far gone that she can’t manage dinners and shows.

For a while it’s fine, and then it’s mostly just that the mornings are awful. She takes her medicine in the morning, and it makes her feel sicker than anything. She tries to take it early as possible, but no matter when she does, she finds herself curling back up and rarely getting out of bed before noon. Not unless it’s to retch, or muster up enough reserve to call her son. She cancels most lunch dates, as the only thing she can stomach after all that becomes a tea that’s supposed to help, that’s she’s not really sure actually does. But she can drink it, anyway.

Afternoons are better. Evenings are when she feels the most like herself, and that’s usually when she socializes. Wining and dining her favourite friends with uncommon indulgence, and calling Melarue up for chats, and letting herself forget that there’s anything wrong at all.

After about a year, though, she begins losing weight. And the bruising starts. Any injuries at all, nicks and scrapes, have taken longer to heal for a while, but then she starts finding big, dark bruises in places she can’t particularly account for. Waking up with them or discovering them while changing, or showering. Her evenings get shorter, as exhaustion seems to creep up on her, more and more. The doctors say it’s typical.

Mirena’s never much cared for being typical. She puts her short-sleeve dresses away, and waves her way through comments on how thin she’s looking.  _It’s fashionable,_ she says, and no one really makes much of a fuss about it.

Thenvunin comes home for a visit, on break, and she pulls out all the stops for that. Tells him she’s got the flu, but still gets herself up and going in the mornings with a force of will, and puts on her best face, and agrees with him when he says she should be eating better and fusses that she’s not taking care of herself while he’s gone.

“I just got caught up in a project,” she tells him. “Don’t worry, da’vhenan, I’ve been to the doctor.”

It’s true. Even the bit about the project is; she needs  _something_  to do with her hands at times, after all, and so she sketches out things that she still hopes she’ll get to see. Wedding gowns fit for kings, and soft baby clothes perfect for grandchildren, and other things that might never happen even if she lives to be a thousand and one. But it’s good to daydream. She designs costumes for Melarue, for the all the fantastical roles and disguises that might fill their future. Performances that will come, undoubtedly, even as they age. Her grip is still steady enough, at least.

And the visit does seem to rejuvenate her, in many ways. Thenvunin tuts over the state of the gardens, and hires a new caretaker to come and look after them in his absence, and brings in fresh flowers but otherwise seems perfectly content to stay at home and chat with her, talking about his doubts on his career choices, and writing his little stories on his computer and in his notebooks.

A week after he leaves, the doctors put her on a new treatment plan. New medications and schedules. Injections that leave near-permanent bruises on her wrists, but overall, it’s much better. She gets her mornings back, even if she starts going to bed at seven o’clock, and the nausea remains but it’s usually mild enough for her to manage.

It’s amazing how illness changes the parcelling of time and actions. She’d noticed it when Thenvunin was younger, and it comes upon her again, this time with a different perspective as she finds herself weighing the costs and gains of her own actions, rather than her son’s. She’s much more impatient with herself, she finds. There are a million things to do, as there always are, and there is nothing quite like the feeling of not even finishing one thing on a list before the day bleeds away. After a few months her energy is better, but her concentration is shot.

She’s not sure it’s overall the best trade-off, but the doctors say things look much more promising, so she sighs and puts the thought away, and hires herself an assistant. A plucky young thing barely a year older than her son, who helps keep her affairs organized and has some healer training, and before long Mirena is paying her double her starting wage and having her help get some of the sketches she’d been working on put together by a few of her associates. The girl is discreet, and kind, and she wishes she had ten of her.

By the time Melarue finishes filming on their television series, she’s progressed from feeling like death turned over, to feeling generally like someone’s just shoved her into a jar and shaken it a lot. It doesn’t take much to convince her friend to go and visit their sons rather than come back to Arlathan straight away, and by the time they’ve finished with that and come to visit her, she’s gotten all her ducks in a row and carefully constructed the illusion that she’s healthy, and happy, and maybe just getting a little bit ditzy thanks to menopause.

Melarue looks at her, and it’s like she can almost feel them shredding through it all as if it’s so much wet tissue paper.

“What’s happened?” they ask her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Mirena tries. But it’s a poor effort, and she knows it. They’re standing in the parlour where her mother had her first heart attack, and it makes Mirena feel old and young at once.

Everyone living is dying.

Her nabae told her that, once, a long time ago.

Melarue looks quiet and still, and somehow smaller than they usually do, as Mirena lets out a breath and drops it all. Her shoulders slump, and she pats down the edges of her sleeves. She feels tired, and bruised, and betrayed by her own body. Like her blood has turned to acid that’s eating her from the inside out.

“I’m sick,” she admits.

Melarue’s fingers twitch.

“No,” they say. “No, no, no. You’re much too young. Much too young.”

“Some things don’t particularly care for age,” Mirena reminds them. Then she sighs, and reaches out, and catches their twitching fingers. Curling them into her own. “You don’t have to hear about it, darling. I’ve got plenty of doctors, plenty of medicine. Sometimes people never get better, but sometimes they do; and I’ve always had more advantages than most.”

Melarue squeezes her fingers, tight.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” they say. “You’re going to tell me everything. You always do.”

She supposes they have a point.

“Well, I needn’t pretend I want to stay standing, then,” she decides. “Let’s go sit. But you must promise me you won’t say a word of this to Thenvunin. He’s got enough to worry about.”

“I can keep a secret,” Melarue promises, with less of the playful twist than she might expect. They link their arm through theirs, and go with her to the sitting room. And Mirena starts at the beginning, of symptoms and doctors and diagnosis, treatments and side-effects, and prospects that sound very tiny and small as the numbers fall from her lips. She takes out her earrings, and pulls off her bracelets. And Melarue fidgets with their own, and then adds a shining silver bangle to the table next to hers.

“Have you… considered alternative prospects?” they ask her.

Mirena raises an eyebrow.

“You mean Faith Healers in Orlais or Dalish herbalists or Avvar spirit invokers? Those sorts of things?”

Her friend’s lips purse.

“Spirit invocation has been known to be effective, under careful circumstances,” they point out. “A lot of unconventional treatments have.”

“And I researched every single one, for years and years, if you recall,” Mirena reminds them, not entirely surprised. Melarue had ventured similar notions with Thenvunin, at times. Particularly during that year when he was nine, and caught a bug that turned into pneumonia, and had to be hospitalized.

“Thenvunin isn’t a mage. It was different for him,” Melarue insists. “However little people might like to discuss it, we  _do_  have certain avenues open to us.”

Mirena lets out a breath. It turns halfway towards a chuckle, and halfway towards a sigh. Her friend’s stare is sharp and steady, but there’s something just there. Just at the edges of it. It makes her think of the first time they met, at her nabae’s funeral. Of the charming stranger, wearing a kind of grief that was like and unlike Mirena’s own, ethereal and beautiful and feeling somehow a thousand years old. For half a second, Mirena had taken them for a spirit. Had wondered if she wasn’t locked in some dream.

But she’s always been good at reading the lines. And much, much too proud to ever concede even a shred of her accomplishments to some eager parasite from the Fade.

“Those avenues, I think, are for people who are not so in love with themselves as I am,” she decides. “I have no aim to die, but if I’m going to do it, then I would rather let my body go than the rest of me. The world works in cycles, Melarue. Only souls are eternal, and that’s what a person risks any time they let a spirit near theirs.”

Her friend goes quiet.

Mirena does, too, sitting in the silence together.

But of course, it doesn’t last. Her heart’s still beating, her mind’s still working, and she’d rather not have any funerals until after the fact. She nudges Melarue to go and get them some drinks, and then she sets up the television so they can watch her friend’s latest creative endeavours. Their performances steal the show, as always. And then Mirena goes and gets her sketches, and shows off her latest designs; and even explains her concentration issues, as Melarue nods and clucks their tongue, and then helps her work through her own thoughts with the deftness of someone who knows them nearly as well as she does.

It’s a relief, in the end. An unexpected one, but having Melarue know helps. The first week of their visit ends up being the best she’s had since Thenvunin went back to school. They design wedding dresses and suits for Aelynthi, and costumes and gowns and even, on one mingled morbid and yet freeing evening, the most elaborate funeral attire they can imagine.

When Thenvunin comes home for another visit, Melarue helps her keep up appearances.

They don’t bother trying to convince her to tell him. She’s not even sure they think he  _should_ know. He’s so bright and happy, faltering a little as he tells her that he’s met someone. That they’re sharp and shrewd, and ridiculous, and when he shows her a picture she’s almost surprised to see the tiny, spiky little elf next to her son, because the way he describes them she would think them huge. Like Aelynthi’s boyfriend.

They certainly seem to have a theme, though. And Mirena decides that she likes their face.

“You will have to bring them for your next visit,” she insists, and Thenvunin hedges a bit, and replies that he’ll see if they’re interested. Insisting, of course, that it’s not really  _that_  serious, in a way that makes her think it probably is.

_Please don’t be another predator,_  she asks the universe. Her son has been preyed upon much too much already.

But as it happens, they are quite the little predator, when Thenvunin finally does bring them home; after graduation. It’s of a sort that Mirena can approve of, however. The kind that makes her think of Melarue. And even, just a bit, of herself. Sharp and shrewd indeed, and they watch her with much more observance than her son can usually manage. But they don’t say anything, not even to her.

By then she’s on an upswing anyway, though. She goes in for a surgery disguised as a business trip, and comes out of it feeling lighter than she has in years. The incision doesn’t even scar, they do most of it with lasers, and while it isn’t the absolute fix she might wish for, it’s another bid for time. Another step that lets her get some more breathing room, lets her sneak some more hours into the day where she can feel like she’s living, and forget that she’s dying.

Her son comes home to have a minor crisis about his future and prospects, and Mirena takes him to dinners and shows, spoils him as badly as she can, and designs dozens of gowns and dresses and suits and ensembles that she imagines him wearing in a hundred different seasons of life. She thinks about his father, one evening. Staring into the fireplace, after he’s gone to bed, while the new little finches her son’s acquired snooze in their cage.

For once, she isn’t bitter about it. She remembers him young and handsome, with broad shoulders beneath her hands, and gentle lips against her own.

She thinks about calling him. People are supposed to square away their affairs towards the ends of their lives, after all. But really, perhaps, there’s not much left to be said between them.  ‘I hope you choke’ may not have been her most eloquent parting shot, but even now, she thinks, it’s still true.

And who knows? Perhaps it isn’t the end, after all.

She starts drawing wedding attire fit for sharp-eyed young souls with an obvious preference towards the colour red.

Thenvunin finds some of her sketches, and goes tongue-tied.

“ _Mamae,”_  he finally protests. “It’s not as if they’ve proposed! We might not even ever get married. Even if we stay together.”

She clucks her tongue at him.

“I know that, da’vhenan. They’re just ideas. What-if’s. Maybe in another life the two of you got married. Maybe in the one after this you will. Or maybe not. That’s what imagination’s for, and goodness knows I don’t want you rushing into some marriage you aren’t ready for.”

Thenvunin protests a little more, mostly as a matter of course and because he’s embarrassed – and because, she thinks, it also gives him an excuse to go through all of her sketches. While he explains that she shouldn’t have made them. Naturally. She remembers when he and Aelynthi used to draw along with her, on weekends when Thenvunin couldn’t go outside to play. Making up their own outfits, getting so excited when Mirena would put together one or two for costumes and play.

She bops her son on the nose, and tells him if he likes her sketches so much, she can send him copies.

He huffs at her.

“You aren’t  _listening,”_  he declares, but without any real conviction.

“I’m sorry, darling. Sometimes I look at you and I still see a two-year-old covered in fingerpaints,” she admits.

“That’s ridiculous,” he assures her.

A month later, Mirena’s actually working a job for the first time in ages, and she finds out she’s a grandmother.

It’s rather more sudden than she expected.

But then, she did manage to become a mother in all but an instant, too. However long she had to wait to actually meet her son. That had taken nine months; she meets her granddaughter after just about half that, coming home to find the house she had been raised in, that she raised her son in, has a full nursery again.

Little Kelvallastheneras – and, oh goodness,  _why_  did Uthvir let Thenvunin name her – is bigger than her papae had been, and not half as noisy, to the point where Mirena sometimes gets up in the middle of the night and has to hold a hand in front of her little mouth to make certain she’s still  breathing. But then, Kel doesn’t have any tubes or casts or aches and pains disrupting her sleep further than the usual adjustments all babies need to make.

Uthvir never reminds her quite so much of Melarue as when they hold their baby. Cradling her head, unable to disguise the covetousness of the gesture, as they keep her close and whisper little things to her. Always with a faint note of tension to them, whenever anyone else but Thenvunin holds her. She can all but feel them biting their tongue each time she scoops up her granddaughter, and doesn’t bother to resist rolling her eyes at them or staring them down whenever appropriate.

Not that she hadn’t been an absolute terror to everyone who tried to hold Thenvunin, but still.  _They_  don’t know that, and can’t prove it anyways, and Mirena wants to cuddle her granddaughter. Who is cute as a button, and probably going to do enviously well in Arlathan’s climate with her lovely dark skin, and is just impossible to resist kissing on her little cheeks and nose and forehead.

When Kel’s moving on to solid foods, however, Mirena wakes up one morning feeling a lurching and unwelcomely familiar disorientation, and pain. She can’t disguise the upset, and so Thenvunin ends up driving her to the hospital, worrying over whether or not it’s some contagion brought over from Ferelden and if they should take the baby along, too, until Mirena can’t withstand his distress and her guilt anymore, and finally relents.

“It’s not contagious,” she tells him, as they wait for one of the city’s notoriously long stoplights.

He comes up short.

“You know what it is?” he asks, and she lets out a long breath.

“It’s just a little thing,” she says. “It comes and it goes. You’ve no need to worry about it.”

But her son, though not always observant, is not an idiot, either.

“What do you mean, ‘a little thing’? What is it, precisely?” he demands.

“It’s just – it’s very common,” she assures him, waving dismissively.

“Mamae,” he insists.

“It’s only a  _little bit_  of cancer,” she finally admits.

His face goes ashen.

It is a thousand, million, billion times worse than telling Melarue. She’s tempted to almost make him switch spots with her so that she can drive, as he nearly doesn’t start again when the light changes, until the people behind them honk impatiently. His grip on the steering wheel is rigidly tight, and she worries about him fainting.

“Lots and lots of people get cancer, da’vhenan, there are so many types and so many places for it to turn up. So many treatments,” she assures him. “You can’t go thinking it’s the end of the world. It’s a problem, but like all problems, it’s one that just has to be approached reasonably and with great determination. I have not lost my head over it, and neither should you. Now turn left, there we go. Put your foot down just a  _touch_  harder, going faster than a snail won’t be detrimental to me. The baby isn’t in the backseat. Deep breaths, Thenvunin. Count them for Mamae.”

“I don’t need to  _breathe,”_  he snaps, lips thin and knuckles still white. “How long have you known? What kind of cancer is it? What are they doing about it?”

“They’re doing everything that needs to be done, da’vhenan. It’s just one of those things,” she assures him. “Eyes on the road, please, we don’t want to get a ticket. A car accident won’t help with anyone’s wellness.”

That at least gets him focusing on the drive again, though by the time they pull into the hospital parking lot, he’s rigid and fraught and there’s not much she can do to make him calm down. He refuses to go back home, so she makes him call his Uthvir while he waits for her, and really, she’s almost as worried. But not for the same reasons. Her doctor sees her readily enough, and does what she expects – schedules her for a few more tests, and tells her to take it easy in the meanwhile.

Sometimes, Thenvunin is shockingly resilient. But sometimes he isn’t, too, and Mirena doesn’t know what he’ll do if she goes. He has his Uthvir, and his baby. And Aelynthi, and his friends from college. She approves of them, but she remembers when her own mother died. Remembers how important it was that she still had her father; and then, when she lost him, that she had her nabae.

And she remembers how she felt when Nabae Famaer died, a few months later. Like she was all alone in the world. All the friends she had, the ties she’d made, it didn’t matter. The people who’d shielded her from the dangers of the world were gone, and she’d been the last tree left standing after the ravages of a storm, branches and bark stripped, trunk straining as every weight felt too heavy, and the sky too wide and open and empty.

Thenvunin gets her home again, and the whole time she keeps thinking he’s going to faint. But he doesn’t. He makes her give him the whole story again before he gets that far. No matter how gently Mirena tries to present it to him, once he starts looking things up and making her use specific terms, specific time frames, it’s hopeless.

He passes out on the floor of her study, and she goes and gets Uthvir, and Uthvir carries him to the couch for her.

Mirena brushes his hair away from his face.

“If I’d told him while he was in school, he would have come home,” she says. “He would have spent all this time fretting over me. Stuck in this house with me. This is the first time in his life he’s been able to just go and see and do whatever he wanted to. He’s been so happy.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Uthvir tells her.

She glances at them.

“You love him,” she says, folding her arms.

They let out a long breath through their nose.

“It hardly seems fair to ask me that when I know you’re dying,” they reply. “What if I say yes, and you think I’m just putting it on to reassure you? At this point it hardly matters how any of it gets defined. He’s my daughter’s father; we’re linked. I’ll look after him, no matter what.”

Oh, gods above, this class of people – the Nabae Famaer’s and the Melarues and the Uthvirs – whatever makes them tick, she thinks, it certainly doesn’t care for the word ‘love’.

“You love him,” she repeats, and Uthvir relents, just a little. Some of that armoured edge shrinking off, as they look at her son, and their eyes go soft.

“…Yes,” they confirm.

“I certainly hope you’ve told him so,” she declares.

“Yes, I have told him so,” Uthvir admits, clipped, now.

“And not just while you’re having sex,” she adds, and they look at her, and narrow their eyes.

“Should I schedule a hearing for it?” they wonder. “Perhaps arrange a tasteful public meeting?”

“I believe we call those ‘weddings’, and I wouldn’t say it’s a bad idea,” Mirena replies.

They raise an eyebrow at her.

“I’m not marrying him just because we have a baby, and I’m not marrying him just because you’re dying,” they say.

_Good_ , she thinks. Oh, good, good, good. That’s the kind of love she wants for him. The kind that’s there no matter what box you put it in. Thenvunin starts coming around, then, and she has to sit down for a bit. Uthvir goes and gets him a glass of water, and then the baby wakes up, too, and really it’s just a lot of time spent reassuring everyone of everything.

A few days later her tests come back, and she has to go in for another surgery. And it’s much worse, with Thenvunin knowing, to be honest. Much more fraught, and stressful, and since Thenvunin knows, then Aelynthi knows, and before long his entire little circle of school friends are pitching in and hovering about and making it very difficult for Mirena to keep up appearances, because there’s always someone around and she has very little interest in being seen in an unfit state by them all.

After the surgery, that’s when Melarue swoops in. Pointing out that an apartment in the city would be more convenient for Thenvunin and Uthvir during the weeks, to visit their friends and do shopping and take Kel to socialize with other babies. And that Mirena needs space, to rest and recover, and can’t always be around visitors and crying infants and yes, of course, everyone means well and everyone is helping, but there’s no reason for anyone to be so close by that they’re interrupting her rest and recovery.

It’s a breath of relief, to be alone in her house with her best friend.

And her son’s birds, of course. Only the finches are fit for apartment living.

But the birds don’t talk, at least, and the only time they’re in a position to judge her plumage is when she’s outside.

Melarue sits with her in the big floor-set tub in the master bathroom, making sure she doesn’t slip and drown but otherwise seeming content to just relax with her in the silence.

“I can’t believe I’m a grandmother,” she finally says, aloud.

Melarue tips their head in acknowledgement.

“It is a strange feeling, seeing a child you’ve helped raise have a child of their own,” they agree, clicking one of their nails against the side of the tub. “But that’s how it’s always gone, isn’t it? Children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Thenvunin’s got a child, and Aelynthi will probably have one, too, eventually. Maybe more than one. And we’ll love them, all of them…”

MIrena frowns a little, as she detects the odd shift to Melarue’s tone.

But then they’ve always been afraid of attachments. It’s a tricky concept, she supposes, realizing that the people you love can go and make new ones that you’ll love, too, all of their own volition. Melarue might wish they were more like Nadas, who could just up and flee, in the end, but they’re not. They fell in love with little Aelynthi, as soon as he was born.

And she remembers the first time she put Thenvunin in their arms, and how carefully they held him. How the pointed tips of their nails went soft, as they reached over to brush his cheek.

“I won’t ask you to look after them, when I’m gone,” Mirena decides.

Melarue stills, and an odd expression – one not even Mirena is quite sure how to read – slips across their features.

“Why not?” they wonder.

Mirena sighs, and sinks a little lower into the tub.

“Because, there’s no point,” she declares. “I don’t have to ask you to look after Thenvunin because you love me. You love him, too. Maybe should I ask that you make sure to let yourself love the rest of them, instead. The ones that haven’t come into the family yet, that you might not have to meet, otherwise. You’re too liable to let yourself get cold and lonely if you think everyone’s looked after and no one needs you.”

Melarue frowns.

“You’re not playing fair,” they accuse.

She grins.

“Do you think I wouldn’t want you looked after, too?” she asks, looking up at the bathroom ceiling. “I know you much too well. You and I, we’re soulmates.”

“Waxing poetic, are we?” Melarue replies. But then they go quiet, and don’t say much more until the water is tepid, and they help her out of the bath and into her favourite robe. They take her arm and let her veer them towards the kitchen, rather than the bedroom, declaring that now’s a good time for a light snack. Which, according to the doctors, it always is on any occasion that she actually feels like eating.

They go back to the bedroom to eat, though, propping themselves up with cushions and pillows.

Melarue peels their grapes. It’s one of the few things that they do that Mirena could imagine them doing as a child. Carefully removing the skin and popping the little treat into their mouth.

They regard one of her cushions with unusual intensity, as they snack. It’s an older thing, that used to belong to her mother. Comfortable and soft and well made enough that the embroidery is still clear.

“If the world goes in cycles,” they say. “What happens if someone breaks the cycle? Goes and stands outside of it, and just watches it pass them by?”

“How could they?” Mirena wonders.

Melarue shrugs.

“Perhaps the gods reached down and plucked them up, on some stray whim. Or perhaps they turned their gaze away for a moment, and some odd little snake slithered its way between the cracks of the world. Swallowed a star and learned the secrets of immortality. What do you think? Would they be doomed?”

Mirena gives the prospect a moment’s consideration.

“Well, nothing’s to say they couldn’t find their way back into it,” she decides. “If there’s a way out, there’s a way in.”

“Drop a stone into the ocean, and it will never learn how to float back to the top,” Melarue counters.

“Because it’s a stone, darling. People aren’t rocks, and unless you’ve run afoul of a disreputable dwarven arms dealer, rocks aren’t people,” she insists.

“True enough,” they murmur.

They’re still staring at the cushion, by the time she falls asleep against their shoulder.

The years she has left, after that, feel too slow and too fast. She gets better; she gets worse. Each deterioration seems to bring her overall standards back down another notch, and she knows, in her  bones, that she’s not going to get better. But it’s not hard to keep living, just the same. She sketches outfits for Kel, little girl clothes and gowns for a young woman, but all of them feel inadequate, too lost in the possibilities of the kind of person her tiny granddaughter might grow into being. So after a while she just dithers in the hypothetical, making suits and summer dresses, as Kel takes first steps, and manages first words, and comes and visits her grandmamae when she’s well enough for it. Sitting in the draft room with her, scribbling her own drawings.

Mirena’s never going to see her grow up.

It’s infuriatingly unfair, she thinks.

In point of fact she wants to see all of them grow up. Kel, and her tiny toddler friends; the mischief-making Evanuris twins and apple-cheeked Ileth and that little devil, Isabela. And at night, something comes to her and whispers that she can. That if she just lets it lend her a hand, then all of this business of being sick and weak will be over, and she’ll be able to see her granddaughter grow up. To keep on looking after her son, to go back to work, to keep Melarue company herself.

To watch Thenvunin get old, and grey, and die.

Standing on the outside.

She banishes them, and wakes in more pain than she can sleep with. So she gets up, and starts working on the plans for Thenvunin’s wedding.

Uthvir proposed.

Mirena’s not quite sure that they aren’t timing things to be mindful of her situation. But she’s fairly convinced that they’d marry him anyway, now, so she takes the boon for what it is, and starts putting all the money she set aside for her son’s wedding to good use.

She watches the ceremony from the front pews, with her granddaughter on one side and Melarue and their family on the other, and even if she doesn’t manage to look quite as resplendent as she’d like, her son has more than enough beauty for a hundred thousand souls.

Kel’s in kindergarten, by the time she’s too sick to keep staying in her house. She’s begun to think of herself as more cancer than not, by then. The healers mostly take over, as the magic tries and tries to rejuvenate her, and gets less successful every time. But it keeps her going for longer than the surgeries could, and it’s less painful. Less exhausting. She gets a private room, and Thenvunin spends much too much time with her there, when he should be on his honeymoon. When his little girl is in her first year of school.

She thinks about that. And about how bad the pain’s been getting. What good could come of drawing it all out for every last minute, how likely a miracle is to arrive, and the bone-deep certainty she has that none is coming.

She decides to stop the treatments.

The doctors give her the prognosis, and she spends an evening with her son. Sharing memories and stories, brushing her fingers through his hair until he cracks and crumbles, and drops to her bedside in tears.

“Please, please,” he says. “Just don’t die  _tonight._  Just not tonight. Don’t go yet, I’m not ready for you to go.”

She brushes her fingers through his hair, and hums for him. Low and soft, until he’s just crying. It’s the only comfort she can offer, really, and so she offers it. If she dies tomorrow, she thinks, it won’t be any easier for him than if she dies today. It looms, and the longer it looms the greater the dread becomes, and she’s not meant for clinging, she thinks. For clawing and scraping and scratching her way through seconds and minutes and hours. There’s little dignity in it, and Mirena prizes hers dearly.

“Go home,” she tells her son. “Go home, and hold your spouse, and your daughter. Pile them all into the big bed, and read Kel stories from one of the books I used to read to you from. I won’t have you remembering me as some shrivelled thing in a hospital bed, gasping its last breaths. That’s not who I am and that’s not what I want for you.”

Thenvunin takes her hand.

“No,” he protests. “I’m not going. You can’t go if I hold on.”

“Da’vhenan, that’s not how it works, and you know it.”

“I can still try.”

“Thenvunin,”

He shakes his head, his cheeks red as he squeezes her fingers tight. Like she’s dangling off the edge of the cliff, and not lying in a bed as her body fails her.

She musters up enough energy to squeeze him back.

“Thenvunin. Kel, all things willing, is going to outlive you,” she tells him, and he stills. She holds his gaze, and she doesn’t see a little two-year-old covered in fingerpaints. She doesn’t see a tiny baby with too many tubes in his wrinkled, pink little body. She doesn’t see a toddler, struggling to move, crying in frustration because he can’t reach his toy. She doesn’t see her awkward boy in braces, rushing back inside because  _Mamae, there are photographers on the lawn!_

She sees a man, who is a good man. Who is passionate and complicated and has held his own child in his arms.

“Do you want your child to watch you die, one day?”

He swallows.

Mirena shakes her head.

“Because I don’t,” she whispers.

And finally,  _finally,_  he starts to move. He goes outside, to where Aelynthi is waiting; and Mirena lets out a long breath, and only when she’s fairly sure he’s not going to come rushing back does she let the last of her own reserve fall. Crumbling to pieces as she thinks of all the sights she will never see, the dreams she had yet to realize.

She’s shaking with it, when Melarue comes in.

They brush a hand across her brow, and for a half a second, she thinks her nabae has come to soothe her.

Mirena swallows back some of her tears. The painkillers her healers had used – magical – are doing a number on her internal organs. But they keep her clearer-headed than drugs, and anyway, it doesn’t particularly matter at this point if her lungs or bladder won’t make it through, when all the rest of her is failing. But the effects are starting to wear off in places, she thinks. Aches in her gut, and frissons up her spine. Melarue whispers and the pains ease again, and they lean in close and rest their forehead against hers.

“You don’t have to die,” they tell her.

“Everything living is dying,” she replies, and their face falls. Crashes.

“I’m not,” they whisper.

And then they whisper of other things, too. Of spirits and pacts and abominations, of friendships and growing old. Staying young. Changing faces and forms and relationships, but all of it still being the same,  underneath it all. And MIrena thinks to herself that it makes a lot of sense. Of course her nabae would be far too clever to die of old age; of course her Melarue would have such big secrets, and such ultimately benign ones as well.

“You’re dying, too,” she promises them. “Everyone really just lives for a moment, and then sooner or later their end comes along as well. One way or another. The world still moves in cycles, Melarue. Nabae.”

“It doesn’t,” they say. “I’ve lived for so long, and it doesn’t-”

“You’ve been alone,” Mirena reminds them, and breaths are very laboured, now. “You need to stop that. It’s not good for you, no matter what you might think.”

Their lips tremble, just a little bit.

“You sound like your father,” they tell her.

“I never did,” Mirena refutes, mustering up delicate sniff. But then her breath breaks, and her heart feels strange in her chest, as everything goes dizzy. She tries to let out a breath but it goes wrong, somehow. It doesn’t hurt, at least. Melarue is holding her, telling her something. Asking her for something. But she can’t really hear the words, can’t really make sense of it except to think that perhaps they shouldn’t be here, either. That she doesn’t want them to remember this, no more than she would want Thenvunin to.

But she can’t voice it.

She clutches their arm, and Melarue calls for someone to come but of course, no one will. They’ve been told not to.

Mirena has the strangest, fading thought that she hopes this goes better, next time. Gripping Melarue’s forearm, and imagining her son, in his bed, with his little girl in his lap and a big book of stories spread out in front of them.

It’s a good thought, that one.

She doesn’t manage another, before the end.


	21. Assembly Required?

Dirthamen frowns at the instructions in his hands. There are no words.Only unhelpfully vague pictures.

Selene is attempting to sort out the pieces in the package, so as to ensure that nothing is missing, and in an attempt to make the process fairly streamlined.

The twins are helping.

Well.

‘Helping’, anyways, as he watches Selene pry the Allen wrench out of Darevas’s mouth.

 

“Perhaps next time we could purchase furniture that has already been built?” Dirthamen suggests as he takes a small wooden peg from Felasel. Selene glares at him. “It is a  _Bonding. Activity._ ” she insists.

 

An hour later and only two planks attached, Dirthamen doubts the validity of that statement.

The twins continue trying to build small towers out of the various pieces that have now been scattered across the table. Selene is crouched over the instructions with a pencil and muttering quietly to herself. He knows that look.

That look never ends well.

–

Another hour passes and Selene has excused herself from the room. Dirthamen puts the twins down for their nap and joins her in the kitchen, where she is angrily chopping vegetables in preparation for dinner.

She glances at him when he walks in, then turns back to the vegetables with a pout. “I know you were right, you don’t have to say it.”

He walks around behind her and wraps his arms loosely around her hips. “I did not say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” she mutters.

 

He places a soft kiss on her cheek. “Perhaps next time, we could pay for them to assemble the furniture for us? Or we could shop someplace else, if you would prefer. There is a shop in Orlais with some very elegant oak pieces I believe you would enjoy.”

Selene lets out a heavy sigh, and places the knife down on the cutting board.

“That’s not the point, Dirthamen. I don’t want to have to rely on other people to do things for me.”

“It is hardly relying on them, when it is their trade.”

“And people have to be paid for their trades!” she exclaims, looking at the ceiling.

 

He blinks, and releases her.

“Is this a money issue?”

Selene rubs her hand down her face “No.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, as he moves around to face her.

Her lips thin, and she looks away without answering. His hand reaches out for hers, index finger hooking her own until she turns to face him again.

“I do not care how much money you make,” he assures her.

“I-!…I know. I know you don’t, Dirthamen. But babies are expensive, and  _everything_  is expensive, and I want to be able to pay my fair share.”

“You do more than your fair share around here, I assure you. Selene, you are a teacher. They are not precisely known for being paid well. But you are fantastic at what you do, and you are a wonderful wife and a brilliant mother, and those are not qualities that can be measured in quantifiable amounts.”

 

Her lips quirk. “How long have you been saving that line?”

He shrugs as his own lips twitch at the corners “A week, perhaps?”

Selene lets out a soft snort, before breaking out into a giggle fit. “You’re ridiculous sometimes. I love you, you dork.”

He pulls her hand up to his mouth and brushes a kiss over her knuckles “Enough to let me get rid of the mess in our living room and take you and the twins shopping?”

Selene lets out an exaggerated sigh accompanied by a playful eye roll

“Well, if you’re going to  _insist,_ ” she jokes, her free hand playing with his belt “I suppose I’ll have to find some way to show my appreciation.”

“I am sure you will think of something,” he whispers. She leans in, her lips just barely grazing his, when a cry erupts from the bedroom.

She drops her head onto his shoulder with a defeated chuckle.

“I’ll take care of them. Can you put away the vegetables for me please?”

He nods, and watches her step out of the room.

Perhaps a new headboard could be beneficial, he contemplates as he opens up the Tupperware. Something with sturdy posts.


	22. First Day of Kindergarten

On Kel’s first day of kindergarten, Thenvunin had worried, and fretted, and fussed over the school, and the curriculum, and schedule. He’d interrogated her teacher and the teachers with classrooms nearby, the principal and vice principal. He’d inspected the classroom, and most everyone had been very patient with him, in part because Uthvir supposes that over-worried parents are not news to anyone with a kindergarten class, and in part because Uthvir bribed a good number of them to be more accommodating than they otherwise might have.

But he hadn’t had any major meltdowns or behaved particularly overwrought where Kel could see. Kel, for the most part, had been excited to reach this new milestone, and had enthused over the presence of her cousins. She’d been more preoccupied with the rocket ships on Darevas’ backpack than anything else, and accustomed enough to playdates, by then, that she just treated the whole experience like a birthday party with knapsacks and crayons rather than balloons and cake.

The minute they’d pulled out of the parking lot, though, Thenvunin had lost it.

Uthvir was rather glad, actually. They weren’t feeling as steady over the whole thing as they’d hoped themselves, and having to comfort Thenvunin gave them a decent excuse to get some comfort back, too. They’d pulled over and gotten an arm around him, and just let him turn into a giant mess over their daughter growing up; and then they’d helped him dry off, and gone to brunch with everyone else, to commiserate over their shared trauma.

Adannar had apparently not fared much better than Thenvunin. Serahlin looked like she was taking the whole ordeal in better stride, but that was the thing about Serahlin; it could be very hard to tell by  _looking._  Tasallir had also seemed very composed and exceptionally nonplussed over everyone else’s ‘dramatics’, whereas Ana and Vena seemed to be occupying a middle-ground of ‘not quite as bad as Thenvunin and Adannar, but toying with the idea of letting themselves emotionally slum it with them’.

Dirthamen had been as neutral-looking as usual, and Selene had red-rims around her eyes, but when she spoke her voice was steady. She took on the task of reminding everyone that this was supposed to be a  _good_  thing, that their children were going to be able to figure out who they wanted to be as they got older, now, and experiencing life from a little beyond the shady umbrellas of their influence was important. Nobody wanted to trap them, after all. Just keep them safe and happy.

_Safe._

Fear had been high all morning, as Uthvir thought of all the myriad of things that could go wrong now that their daughter was in the school system. Adults whom they had not personally met would, over time, have more and more access to her. Children as well. She would always have to learn to defend herself, of course, but they knew the odds and statistics. Every class she took, every acquaintance she made, could draw her closer to someone dangerous. Someone more dangerous than  _any_  child could handle, because children were children, in the end. Small and soft and still new to the world.

Uthvir is tamping down on their paranoia when their phone lets out a distinctive little jingle.

They answer it.

“Hi Nanae!” Kel chirps. “It’s snack time, so I’m calling, like you said.”

“Good job, baby,” Uthvir replies. “Are you having a good day?”

“Yup!” she assures them. “There’s a big painting on the wall and it goes all the way around and it’s got the alphabet on it, and there’s dragons and unicorns and a phoenix on it, too. Did Papae see the phoenix when he came?”

“I’m sure he noticed,” they tell her.

There’s some scuffling around, and little voices talking, then. Uthvir listens for a few minutes, and realizes that Kel forgot to hang up. The call automatically cuts without incident, though. Just the crinkle of cracker packets and the sound of Ileth asking if anyone wants his extra cookie, and then the  _click_  of the timer indicating that it’s been untouched for long enough, and disconnecting the line.

Uthvir hangs up on their end, and hopes she’ll remember to call again at nap time. They had avoided the complexity of clock hands and numbers; just, call Nanae at snack time, and call Nanae at nap time. Not hard for her to remember, seeing as how she normally had one parent or the other available at such times anyway.

They look up and find the entire table is staring at them.

“Well?” Thenvunin asks.

“Everything’s fine,” Uthvir replies. “They’re having snacks. Ileth is sharing his again, so Felasel probably had an extra cookie,” they duly inform Selene and Dirthamen.

“It’s sugar-free,” Adannar replies, still somewhat watery and fragile, but now a little intrigued.

“Kel can work a smart phone?” Dirthamen asks.

“She doesn’t have to. It’s not a typical smart phone, it’s a child’s phone. She hits one button and it calls my number. More of a safety device than anything. She can’t program new numbers into it. There are a few games, but only what I’ve put on there myself,” they explain. “It’s all protected and encrypted so no one can tamper with it. I monitor it through an app on my own phone.”

“I tried to join in but I couldn’t figure it out,” Thenvunin admits. “It’s very simple on Kel’s end, and very complicated on Uthvir’s.”

_Parenthood in a nutshell,_  they think.

There is another long moment of silence, punctuated by the sound of Selene’s chair scraping back. She picks it up, and moves to the side of the table directly next to Uthvir; gently but firmly scooching Dirthamen aside in the process.

“You’re going to show me how to it works,” she informs them. “We’re getting this for the twins.”

“Why didn’t we hear about this before?” Adannar asks. Though he seems to be demanding it of the universe at large, rather than Uthvir in particular.

“Well. It could be because it’s not  _technically_  on the market, yet,” Uthvir allows. “Squish knows a person who knows a person who works for a development company in Amaranthine. But it will probably be a bit more widely known in six or so months.”

Vena makes an odd sound of pained amusement.

“Creators,” he murmurs. “You went and got a glorified baby-monitor for Kel. And here I thought you were the level-headed one; but you’re just as thrown as the rest of us, aren’t you?”

Uthvir raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure I don’ t know  _what_  you’re implying,” they say. “it’s a safety precaution.”

Tasallir gets up, then, and is swiftly followed by Serahlin. There’s some frantic rearrangement of seats, and some minor complaints from Thenvunin who suddenly finds himself deposited a few chairs down from Uthvir, as they abruptly find themselves surrounded and inundated with requests to explain how everything works and where they can get these things for their children.

Uthvir lets out a breath, but obligingly opens up the app, and launches into an impromptu tutorial.


	23. Walking to School & Pregnancy Hurts

When it rains there are lots of puddles, and the sidewalk is glossy as Isabela stomps her way through in her rain boots. Mamae isn’t too far behind with her umbrella, and so Isabela stops to wait for her. She is also wearing big rain boots and a jacket.

“Hurry up, mamae!” Isabela says, as she hops around on the wet sidewalk.

“I’m here da’len,” mamae says. Isabela bolts back towards her and takes her mamae’s hand. “Excited for school, aren’t we?” Isabela nods.

“Teacher said we will be learning about the sea today.” Isabela explains. Mamae giggles.

“You like the sea, hmm? How about we convince papae and babae to take us to the beach. We can collect many sea shells, and see all the different boats.” Isabela would like that, she thinks.

“Would babae like sea shells if I brought them to him?” Isabela asks.

“Da’len, I think your babae would like anything you bring him.”

 

~

 

Pregnancy hurts.

Ana needs to sit down more often, and she finds that she can’t keep up with Isabela when they play. Her back is the worst part. Tasallir draws her baths to deal with her aching muscles, and Vena gives her massages almost every night now. She cannot very well lie down on her front anymore, so she sits on their bed as Vena rubs his palms across her bare back.

There is pain in her abdomen as well tonight, and she rests her hands against the bump. Her body has changed. There are stretch marks on her hips and her breasts are larger. Another bout of pain shoots through her abdomen and lower back and she grimaces.

“Are you okay?” Vena asks, kissing the freckles on the back of her shoulder. She turns her head toward him and nods. It still hurts, but it’s to be expected. Contractions happen, but they dissipate on their own. She checks the time on the wall clock then.

Vena continues to rub her back, and she sighs as some of the tension bleeds out of her aching muscles. She leans back against him once he is finished and kisses his jaw. He lowers his head to chase after her lips, his hands circling her waist to rest on her abdomen. He kisses her once, then again, and again, until there is another bout of pain and Ana grimaces. Vena stops kissing her then, and his brows furrow.

The pain lasts longer and she glances at the clock again before peeling herself off of her husband to use the bathroom. Standing only makes it worse, and walking hurts as well. She manages it, however. Getting to the bathroom and back to bed with one of Vena’s old shirts on.

“Are you sure you’re okay, banana?” Vena asks. He’s settled on his side of their bed, phone in hand as he scrolls through webpages of some kind.

“It’s normal,” she tells him. “Pregnancy hurts.” Ana peels away the covers and settles into them. Her bed is comfortable. The mattress shifts as Vena reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp and curls himself around his wife.

“If anything hurts again just let me know,” he tells her. Planting a kiss against her temple before they fall asleep.

~

Ana wakes up. Vena’s body curled around hers, his chest against her back and his breath against her ear. She’s used to this, his weight against her. The pain shoots through her once more, and she grimaces. She has timed her contractions before. They dissipate after a few minutes, but this one lasts much longer than usual, and she begins to worry. She checks the time on her phone and begins to count.

When the pain comes back, only 7 minutes after the last, she thinks of waking Vena, but she wants to be sure. Then the third wave of contractions start 5 minutes after the last and she wakes him. Batting his shoulder lightly until he opens his eyes and sleepily asks her whats wrong. The sun hasn’t risen yet and it’s still very dark outside, she notes.

“I need you to wake Tasallir,” she says quietly. “Then I need you to call someone. Uthvir, or maybe Aelynthi might be awake at this time, someone needs to be with Isabela,” she says. Grimacing again as the next wave of contractions start, and that has Vena shooting up in bed.

4 minutes since the last.

“Ana, vhenan what’s wrong?”

Ana tries to sit up, lets out a pained sound and urges Vena to do as she asked him. Reluctantly he goes to get Taz, and when the contractions cease, she stands up, leaning against the night stand for support.

One thing at a time.

“I need a hospital,” she says.


	24. Proud Parenting

Darevas and Felasel are approximately three years old when Selene has the proudest moment of her parenting career.

“Mama, come play wif us” Felasel insists as he grabs a firm hold of her index finger.

“Hold on Felly, Mama is finishing dinner,” She hums, finishing topping off her pasta bake with a thick layer of mozzarella cheese. Carefully, she nudges Felasel out of range of the oven as she opens the door and sets the timer. Once her hands have been wiped off on her apron, she holds her hand out for Felasel with a smile.

“Ok, I’m all yours for the next thirty minutes.”

 

Felasel grins from ear to ear and tugs her into the living room. Darevas glances up from the toy laptop and pats the ground next to him twice.

Felasel makes a face “I don’ wanna play house. Le’s play somefin else.”

Darevas pouts but closes the laptop as it makes it’s cheery ‘see you next time!’ sounds, and Selene plops down in her instructed spot.

“Ok, wha’d'you wanna play?”

“Downisaurs!” Felasel exclaims loudly, and the two run off to their room before emerging several moments later. Darevas’s arms are filled with a plastic, brightly covered play set with several levers and slopes that can be rearranged, and Felasel is carrying a set of four small smiling dinosaurs with wheels that they place down in front of Selenes crossed legs.

 

“Downisaurs!” They both exclaim giddily.

 

Selene smiles as she helps them arrange the play set. “These are called Dinosaurs,” she informs them gently, emphasizing the 'eye’ noise.

“Nuh-uh,” Darevas retorts with a firm shake of his head. His hair whips into his eyes with each movement and Selene makes a mental note to get them a haircut soon.

Felasel reaffirms his brothers claim and  together they each set a dinosaur car at the top of two slopes. Simultaneously, they lift two of the levers, and the cars race down the slopes, while the two boys yell “DOWNASAURS!” and the light bulb goes off in Selenes head.

Oh.  
Because they are dinosaurs. That go down.

**_OH._ **

 

Her eyes light up, getting only slightly teary as she scoops the two boys up and practically kicks down the door of Dirthamens office.

“ _OURSONSMADETHEIRFIRSTPUN_!” She practically yells, bouncing on the balls of her feet and grinning maniacally at their father. Who blinks, and tells whomever was on the other side of the phone call that he will call them back a little later.

“I did not quite catch that, I am sorry.”

 

“Our sons! Our wonderful, beautiful brilliant baby boys! They made their first pun!” She exclaims again, finally placing the two squirming children on the ground. The two look up at her skeptically when she asks them to show their papa, and they make an overly dramatic exit and entrance with the play set (because “you lef’ it in the  _living room_ , Mama”), while Selene giggles and props herself up on the edge of Dirthamens desk. He waits patiently, as the boys do their trick and exclaim again, and Selene cheers and claps at the end of it.

Dirthamen nods approvingly and gives them a smile.

“That was very clever.”

The twins giggle, and run off back towards the living room to finish their game.

Once they have left, Dirthamen turns to Selene “That was not a pun.”

She frowns. “What? Of course it was. It was a dinosaur, that went down, and they called it a  _downasaur_. That was incredible.”

“Incredible, yes. But not, technically a pun. It was a well designed portmanteau though.”

 

Selene blinks and opens her mouth to argue as she hops down off of his desk, but the timer for the oven begins to beep before she can speak.

She levels a finger at him and raises her eyebrows challengingly while she walks backwards out of his office.

“I’m not done with this.”

Dirthamen hums as he finishes neatly piling his paperwork and follows her out the door.


	25. New Baby

Rissa is a very tiny baby.

Uthvir is extremely careful with her, rocking her gently in the quiet of Vena, Ana, and Tasallir’s living room space. Vena and Ana are currently engaged in the scintillating private-time activity of actually getting a decent night’s rest, while Tasallir is off for the first spa day he’s been able to manage since the birth. Uthvir and Thenvunin had offered to be this evening’s support, as, despite their capability and three sets of hands, the new parents had still been running themselves ragged balancing their new arrangement.

Thenvunin’s putting the older children to bed. Kel and Isabela are having a sleep-over, if a relatively quiet one, with movies and some sugar-free snacks, and a great deal of surprisingly solemn talk on the obligations of being an older sister/cousin. Uthvir can hear Thenvunin’s voice drifting, just softly, up the hall. It’s his ‘storytelling’ cadence. It sounds nice, though, just pleasantly murmuring through the sleepy residence, as Uthvir rocks Rissa and checks to see if she’s willing to try drinking from her bottle again. She’s a fussy one; she prefers her milk from the source, but it’s still her mother’s, either way.

Her little face is scrunched and pink, and she has a ludicrous tuft of jet black hair. Colouring aside, she’s going to look like Ana, though, Uthvir bets. They brush a finger gently over the top of her head, and Rissa turns a little, making a noise of complaint that lets up when they get the bottle within range of her mouth. She finally accepts it, though Uthvir imagines she’s still feeling somewhat dubious over the whole situation. They remember when Kel was just a bit bigger than this, and how suspicious she could be of new people sometimes.

“We’ve met before, you know,” Uthvir softly informs Rissa. “But you were just a few days old, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. There were a lot of introductions going around.”

The baby ignores them in favour of drinking. And pausing, every so often, to make complaining noises and not-quite-cry, and then start drinking again.

Uthvir’s starting to suspect she just likes the novelty of making sounds. Well. It’s new for her, they can appreciate that.

Rissa manages to finish the bottle and submits to Uthvir’s attempts to burp her, and she seems to be mostly done by the time Thenvunin’s voice trails off. They hear the  _click_  of the bedroom door closing, and the soft rhythm of footsteps. Thenvunin settles onto the couch alongside them. Cozying up, really, and peering down at little Rissa. Uthvir glances over and is not at all surprised to see him wearing that ludicrously tender, ‘oh-look-a-baby-I-love-babies’ expression of his.

They wonder if…

But. No. Another baby probably wouldn’t be wise of them. Kel was… though… well.

Perhaps they can afford to consider it. Just a little. It’s bad timing right  _now,_  anyway, with little Tonlen also new to the world, and Serahlin recovering from a difficult pregnancy, and Rissa’s parents busy with her, and Thenvunin going through another career-reconsideration-crisis. Uthvir wants to give him some space, now that Kel’s getting older, to actually sort out what he wants from his life. A few years’ grace period, at least. Especially considering Mirena, and the still-fresh weight of the wedding band on his finger.

They don’t want him rushing into anything else he might come to regret. They want him to be happy of the direction their lives have taken.

Rissa is  _very_  cute, though.

“Want to take a turn holding her?” Uthvir asks, softly.

Thenvunin wraps an arm around them, and presses his lips to their temple.

“I think I’d rather hold you while you hold her,” he decides. “This is nice.”

Uthvir hums in noncommittal acceptance. They rock Rissa, and watch as her green eyes droop shut. She fights it. Kel used to fight it, too. And Isabela. Ileth was a little more serene, they think. Or maybe, in hindsight, he’d just had more interesting dreams – being a mage and all.

Kel could still prove to be one, of course. So could Isabela, for that matter. But Fear suspects not, and Uthvir is inclined to agree.

Will little Rissa be a mage, they wonder?

Either why, she’ll need looking after, they suppose. Just like all the other little ones.


	26. Vena and Rissa

When Rissa is born, Vena decides to take advantage of his firm’s benefits, and goes on parental leave.

He didn’t do the same with Isabela. But, when they adopted Bela, he was a new hire, and Ana had still been selling most of her stock through online purchases, and Tasallir had basically come into the thick of things with schedules worked out and friends who were more than happy to help babysit, acceptable preschool programs for them to consider and… well, it just, really had not seemed as necessary for him to take a leave. He was in a better position to bring home the bacon instead, so he had, and then he’d done his best to make up for it in the evenings, to make sure he wasn’t neglecting his daughter or either of her other parents.

But when Rissa is born, it’s shortly after Tasallir’s promotion. The apartment’s been renovated and expanded, and Ana wants to spend more time at home for a while. But she still plans on keeping the shop open and running and going in about twice a week. Business has been booming and they’ve been talking over the prospects of getting a bigger shop space and more employees. And even without going  _in,_  Ana still needs time to make stock and come up with new products, and be able to test things where tiny little hands won’t get into them. So Vena thinks about it, and they all talk it over, and it’s agreed that for the first few months, he’ll stay home.

It turns out to be a good decision. Vena can take Isabela to school, can look after Rissa when her Mamae needs to be doing something else, can even help Tasallir get some of his own work overflow squared away. He spends a lot of mornings watching cartoons and changing diapers and marveling at his daughters, a lot of evenings helping Isabela with her homework and keeping the apartment clean, indulging in a kind of peaceable flow of mingled chaos and contentment that reminds him of when he first got to college, and successfully lowered the cutting blade between himself and the strict regimens and impossible standards and stress of his childhood and teen years.

Plus he gets to watch Isabela blow raspberries onto her little sister’s tummy, and film it, and post videos all over the internet.

Rissa is a quieter baby than her sister. Sometimes Vena worries that it’s because she doesn’t have as much energy, that her little body is struggling on the inside in places he can’t see. The healers treated her right when she was born, and the doctors say that there are good odds she’ll make a full recovery, and the concerns over her heartbeat will be a non-issue by the time she reaches puberty. But that’s not a guarantee, and Vena worries that something might happen and he might not be able to tell.

Overall, though, he’s pretty sure that it’s just that Rissa has a different personality. When Isabela was a baby she was all about the moving around side of things. Trying to get a head start on crawling. Reaching for anything nearby. Hefting stuff up or down or twisting around, wanting to explore.

Rissa is more of a watcher. She’ll stare at things with this intent little look on her face, and then almost always break out with a smile. Like she’s just figured out another secret of the universe, even if the secret is just that Babae’s keys are shiny, or Papae’s earrings are pretty, or that Mamae changed out the models in her crib’s mobile again.

Sometimes Vena gets down on the floor with her, like he used to do for Isabela and her cousins, too, and looks at things with her. Wondering how she must see it all. Grinning when she reaches over to grab his ear, or makes a happy little noise at him.

That’s what he’s doing, in the middle of a Thursday, as Rissa chews on a piece of his ponytail and Vena tries to convince her that her teething ring would be a better idea. They compromise on his finger instead, as she closes a tiny fist around it and drags it up to her mouth, burbling triumphantly before she sucks on his knuckle.

Vena grins back. Looking at her little tufts of dark hair, and her round cheeks. She’s gonna look like Ana, he thinks, when she starts getting bigger. She’s got her eyes, and he’s pretty sure that little button nose will be like her Mamae’s, too. And that skin is definitely going to freckle, rather than tan. But for right now, she looks like kind of like he did as a baby.

It makes him think of old photographs his parents used to keep on the walls of their study. The line of them. He got his photo taken every year, and their housekeeper used to frame each one identically. Setting them up in a row above that pretentious glass fireplace. He remembers photo days, dressing in his formal clothes and sitting in stuff rooms, posed like he was some figure in a historical painting. How his baby portraits were all solemn-faced, and how his mother would  _tsk_  and inform him that he was supposed to look  _serious_  any time he would smile when the camera went off. He was supposed to look determined. Regal. Intelligent. Stern. Just like his father, who almost never cracked a smile, and certainly didn’t ration the few he had for Venavismi.

Happiness was not a concern.

Rissa burbles inquisitively at him, and Vena leans in and kisses her little nose. Humming a reassuring tune, that makes her pat at him with one hand. And she smiles. Big and happy, while she drools messily all over his hand.

He needs another picture of her smiling, he decides.

But he can take it later. When he can actually bring himself to look away and get his phone.


	27. Bright

He is in big trouble. Big, BIG trouble. Even in bigger trouble than that one time he opened one of Uncle Thenvunin’s bird cages without his permission. This is bad, really bad.

Ileth slumps down in the chair, trying to make himself as small as possible, smaller than even Kel, and she’s very small. But the doctors say Ileth is in the…average percentiles? So he’s not very small, but he can try to be, if he pulls his legs up and hunches his shoulders down. Maybe then the counselors and the principal will forget about him and he can sneak back into class. They’re learning about reptiles today.

“What are you doing?” Kel asks from her chair. She’s sitting oddly too though, with her legs crossed underneath her in the too big chair in the principal’s office. 

“I’m trying to be small.”

“Oh. Why?”

“So they’ll forget about me and what happened?” He says and her face scrunches up in that way it does when he says something that she doesn’t understand.

“But you didn’t do anything!”

“Yes, I did. I threw that kid back and into the shelves where they keep all the dodge-balls.”

“Yeah, but only because he pushed me. And besides, you’ve never used magic before so they can’t get mad at you.” She shrugs and Ileth wants to believe her, but the principal and the counselors didn’t seem like they believed him when he said that he’d never cast a spell before.

Maybe it’s because that morning, he dropped his toothbrush, except that he didn’t…it stayed up and in his mouth without him even biting it. He didn’t know how to tell Memae or Papae about it though, so…he didn’t. And now he’s in trouble.

“That Amaris kid is a jerk anyways.” Kel scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. Ileth supposes she’s right, she usually is about this sort of stuff. 

The door to the room opens and Ileth panics and tries to shrink even smaller when he sees his memae, Papae, as well as Nabae U-bear and Uncle Thenvunin enter along with the principal. 

“Alright, here they are.”

“I’m sorry, you weren’t entirely clear on the phone, you said there was a fight?” His memae asks, moving so that her hand rests on his head. 

“There was an altercation, yes.”

“Isn’t this school supposed to prevent things like this from happening?” His uncle demands, his face is red and his eyes are almost doing that thing that they do when he gets really upset. Nabae places their hand on Uncle Thenvunin’s arm as he moves around the chair to look at Kel. 

“We cannot stop every altercation from happening -

“What exactly happened?” His memae interrupts.

Kel, lunges out of her seat, “Amaris was bullying Ileth! He said Ileth is a freak because of his eyes! And I told him to stop!”

“Kel, the adults are speaking -

“Let my daughter finish,” Nabae says in a weird tone. Ileth’s never heard that tone before, he wonders what it means.

“Go on, little one.”

“Okay. So, Amarris was being a jerk and I told him to stop. And then he said ‘Make me!’ And I told him to stop again. And then he said ‘You’re a freak just like him!’ And then he pushed me. But then Ileth did a magic thing and Amaris FLEW into the rack of dodge balls and hit his head! There, I’m done now, Nanae.” 

Everyone is quiet for a moment before Papae rushes over and picks Ileth up.

“You’re a mage?! That’s amazing, Ileth!” And then Papae hugs him tight and Ileth giggles, holding his papae very tight back. His papae gives the best hugs.

“Oh Ileth, I’m so proud of you,” his memae coos, leaning in and kissing his cheeks and ears. 

“Welcome to the club, kid,” U-bear says and Ileth smiles at them, they’re so nice. Uncle Thenvunin stays by Kel, but still nods his head and smiles at Ileth.

“Congratulations!” He says but Ileth knows he’s still upset by what Amaris said to Kel. Uncle Thenvunin turns back to the Principal who is trying to talk to Memae and Papae, but they’re too busy fussing over Ileth and telling him how much they love him and love his magic too. 

Papae says that he bets that Ileth’s magic is beautiful, just like his eyes. 

“Please, are you ignoring the fact that your son could have possibly severely injured another student?”

“Are you aware that you just imposed a negative association of magic unto a newly fledged mage? Do you understand the ramifications of that?” His memae shoots back.

“That child is a bully! I am appalled that you allowed him into this school! You’re lucky that we don’t sue this poor excuse for a school!” Uncle Thenvunin declares as he finally loses the battle with himself and hoists Kel up into his arms despite her protests.

“ _Papaaaae!_ I’m six! I’m too old to be picked up!” 

“You’re my baby and I love you, you’re never too old for me to pick you up. Now you, you should be ashamed of yourself!” 

“Babe, we should go.”

“No! I want to lodge a complaint! I want to meet this Amaris and his parents and explain to them how not raise a bully! Do they know the horrible things their child said? Look at our daughter! She’s upset!”

“Papae! I’m fine! Ileth’s the one -

“Thenvunin, it’s time to go.” Nabae U-bear says again, Ileth knows this voice, they used it once when Kel tried to crawl across a table to get something and they told to get down. 

“Please don’t be upset, Uncle Benboonin,” Ileth says and he frowns. He still can’t get his name right. It’s so frustrating! He knows how he’s supposed to pronounce it, but he can never seem to manage it. 

But Uncle Thenvunin stops and looks over to Ileth, his face softening, “I’m not upset with you, I promise.” He reaches over and runs a hand through Ileth’s hair before shooting the principal one last look.

“You’ll be hearing from me.” He says and then he heads for the door. U-bear sighs but grabs Kel’s backpack. Memae and Papae take Ileth out as well. 

“You’re not mad I hurt someone?” He whispers into his papae’s hair. 

“We are not happy that someone got hurt, but we are very happy that you’re a mage.” Papae says and kisses Ileth again. 

“Okay. I hope he’s okay.” 

“Oh sweetie, I’m sure he’s fine. There are very capable healers nearby.” Memae says and it…helps. Memae always helps though. 

Nabae U-bear suddenly glances back, “We should get frozen yogurt.”

“OOH!” Frozen yogurt is the best! 

“Can we go to Yogurt Tower?” Ileth says a little loudly. But Papae just laughs while Memae and U-bear nod. 

“That sounds great, and you know who I bet would love to hear you’re a mage? Your uncle Aelynthi. How about we call him in the car?” Memae suggests and Ileth nods.

U-Bear, Kel, and Uncle Thenvunin take their own car and Ileth bounces in his seat while the phone dial tone sounds through his parent’s car. 

“Hello?” 

“Uncle Ae-bee!”

“Hi, Ileth!”

“Aelynthi, Ileth has some exciting news! Can you tell Uncle Aelynthi your news, Ileth?” Memae prompts as Papae pulls out of the school and begins to head for the road.

“Um, yeah. I’m a mage, Uncle Ae-bee.”

“Oh, Ileth that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you!”

“Really?”

“Of course! I’m a mage too, Tiger. Are you doing anything fun to celebrate?” He asks and Ileth thinks Memae may have rolled her eyes but she’s smiling.

“Yeah! U-bear said we could go to Yogurt Tower!”

“Yogurt Tower! Hey, you want me to meet you over there?”

“Yeah!” 

“Okay, I’ll be right over. I’m really happy for you, Tiger, magic is a wonderful gift.” Uncle Aelynthi’s voice sounds very soft at that and Ileth nods.

“That’s what Papae and Memae keep saying.” Ileth says. 

“Good!” 

“Alright, we’ll see you at Yogurt Tower, Uncle Aelynthi. Say bye, Ileth.” 

“Bye, Uncle Ae-bee!”

“I’ll see you soon, Tiger!”

They all get to Yogurt Tower a few minutes later and Ileth is halfway through putting all the toppings on his frozen yogurt when Uncle Aelynthi walks in.

“Hi, Uncle Ae-bee!” Ileth stands on his tippy toes and waves and his uncle strides quickly over to him and wraps him in a hug.

“I’m so happy for you, Tiger,” his uncle says, kissing his head. 

“Papae and Memae say that my magic will be beautiful, do you think it will be? Will it be like yours or U-bear’s or Auntie Selene’s or Uncle Dirthamen’s?”Ileth asks.

His uncle pets his hair reassuringly as he smiles and shakes his head.

“Your magic is your own, and it is already beautiful.” 

Ileth pales and bites his lip.

“Oh….Uncle Ae-bee?”

“Yeah, Tiger? Something wrong?”

“What…what if all my magic does is hurt people?” He whispers. Uncle Aelynthi freezes like adults always do when he asks a bad question. He’s about to take it back when his uncle shifts so that he’s eye to eye with Ileth. 

“Close your eyes, now…try to imagine lights in any color you like.”

“I like green.”

“Green’s a good color. Imagine little green lights, flickering or moving. Now hold out your palm and really focus on those lights. Do you feel warm?”

“Uh uh, my belly tingles.”

“Okay, that’s your magic, now try to imagine the tingling in your fingers. Good, good, now…open your eyes.” 

He opens his eyes and gasps at the little green lights suddenly dancing around his fingers. They’re…like Satinalia lights, he thinks, all twinkling and glittering. 

“Is that…me?” He asks, watching as one little light buzzes around his pointer finger. It tingles but in a good way, like when Flower licks him.

“Yep. That’s all you.” The lights sputter out in his hand and he looks back up to his uncle. He’s smiling softly at Ileth.

“Ma serannas, Uncle Ae-bee,” he murmurs before gets pulled into another hug. 

“Of course, Tiger. If you ever want to talk to me about magic, just ask, okay? Now, are you going to help me with my yogurt or what?” Ileth nods and his uncle stands back up, but stays close enough to rest a hand on Ileth’s shoulder. 

Ileth helps Uncle Aelynthi with his yogurt, but mostly with the toppings since he ends up getting the coffee flavor (blech!). Once everything is paid for, they combine a couple of tables and sit down. Kel sits Ileth and he’s glad she doesn’t mind his magic. 

“Hey, Ileth, do you want to show everyone your new trick?” Uncle Aelynthi asks. Ileth nods quickly and shoves his hand out. Close eyes. Think of the lights…pull from the belly. Open eyes!

“Oh, Ileth, they’re beautiful!” His Memae gushes as she watches the small twinkling lights. Papae opens his phone and starts recording and Ileth finds himself smiling. 

“Good job, kid,” Nabae says, smiling. Ileth feels something uncoil inside of him and the lights get a little brighter.

His magic is…pretty, he thinks. And bright. He looks at his uncle and nabae and thinks that he…he can like being a mage, just like them


	28. "Yes"

She is in the middle of a lecture when she hears the news. Melanadahl bursts into the room, panting heavily, and tells her she needs to see something. Selene tells him to wait, there are only twenty minutes left, but he shakes his head and tells her she needs to go home, immediately.

It’s unusual, given that he’s usually trying to get her to go out more often than not. So she excuses herself, tells her students to work quietly until she returns,and follows him into the hall. Melanadahl scratches at the top of his head, nervous, and hands her his phone. There is a news story on the front page.

## “House Fire at Evanuris Townhouse”

Underneath it is an image of her home, burning. The one where her sons and husband should be.

She doesn’t even stop to say thank you, or goodbye before she has rushed out to the car. She has never been more thankful for Dirthamens insistence that she learn how to drive, nor for the fact that they own most of the police force as she swerves from lane to lane going well over the speed limit.

_‘Do not be dead do not be dead do not be dead’_

It is hardly much of a mantra, but she has never wanted anything more.

 

She skids the car to a halt at the corner of their street, slamming the door closed as she rushes towards her house. There are firetrucks, and police tape, and people,  _so many_  people standing and staring and whispering. She pushes her way through the crowd, half out of her mind as she watches the smoke billowing out of their roof.

They were going to remodel the children’s rooms, she thinks. It was going to be a surprise. They were just visiting for a few weeks from Arlathan, she and Dirthamen had spent several hours the night before browsing through furniture and decor and color swatches.

It does not matter, now. One of the fire fighters, a dwarf, holds her back when she attempts to push her way through the police line.

“This is my home!” she screams.

Is that her voice? It does not sound like it. The dwarf stumbles backwards, though, and allows her through. She is going to charge into the burning house, she thinks. She is going to get them out, get them safe,  _it is just fire I have survived flames before and I will do it again and again and again just do not be dead do not be dead do not be-_

A large hand snags her arm and yanks her roughly away from the door, and she can feel her mana beneath her skin, ready to fling it at whoever is trying to keep her from getting to them, from saving them. But the hand is attached to an arm, which connects to a body with a face that she recognizes.

It is not her husband. But it is Victory, with smudges and charcoal coating his clothes, and she is grateful to see someone better equipped to handle the stress of an emergency than she is right now.

“Where are they?” she asks, although it comes out as more of a yell really, over the sound of water still being poured over her home, sirens that have been ringing for too long, and the cracking of the wooden doorframe beneath the strain.

 

Victory pulls her towards one of the ambulances, where Darevas and Felasel are sitting in the back. They are being questioned, and are covered in soot and ash, but still very,very much alive.

She tries to run to them, but Victory holds her back.

“They will need you to be strong,” he whispers “They haven’t found Dirthamen yet.”

Her stomach twists, and Des riles inside her mind as she squeezes his hand.

“I understand,” she responds.

It does not mean she accepts it.

She walks to her sons, calmly, and Darevas sags in relief to see her. Felasel jumps off the back of the ambulance and into her arms as she bends down to scoop him up. He buries his face in her shoulder the way he did when he was smaller, much smaller. They are still too small to deal with this sort of thing, she thinks.

“Are you two alright?” She asks, her voice much calmer now, despite the turmoil roiling inside of her.

Felasel nods without removing his head from her shoulder. Darevas wipes at his cheeks, trying to hide the tear tracks that had formed within the soot on his face and nods as well.

 

“Do you remember what happened at all?” She asks, gently, as gently as she can manage while she seats herself beside Darevas, who leans onto her open shoulder.

“Auntie came over,” Felasel mumbles “Papa told us to play outside with Uncle Victory, so I don’t know what happened after that…”

“Do you know which of your Aunts it was?” Selene asks, still keeping her voice soft.

“Andruil,” Darevas answers “It was Auntie Andruil. Why would she…” Darevas’s brows furrow, and he looks down at his hands “We’re family. We’re her family, Papa’s her  _blood_ , why would she…”

“Shhh…” Selene murmurs, placing a kiss on top of Darevas’s head and pulling him close to her.

 

Selene knows precisely why she would. The Evanuris business is ready to be passed on to the next generation, and Dirthamen and Andruil have been competing for the rights for a little over a year now. Sylaise is content to sit on top of her legal firm and let her siblings battle it out. Both of them promised her that she could keep it if they won in exchange for her support with the board, she knows, so the remaining heir has been set up to sit on top regardless of the outcome.

Selene is grateful to be an only child, at times like these. Perhaps Dirthamen would benefit from a similar situation.

 

Victory comes near to them then, and Selene nods to him that he can approach.

“Hey kiddos,” he smiles “How’re you holding up?”

“Fine,” they mumble in unison.

“Did they find papa yet?” Felasel asks.

Victorys smile fades, as he lets out a sigh. “Not yet.”

Selene contemplates the matter while she holds her children close. Leaving Dirthamen to burn to death isn’t quite Andruils style. She takes things personally, and enjoys dealing with matters herself. Selene knows then, that they will not find her husbands body inside of that house.

It means that he may still be alive somewhere else, however. An awful strand of hope, but hope none the less.  She has to take it.

 

Carefully placing Felasel down beside her, Selene stands, and moves with Victory to the side of the ambulance.

“Can you take the boys back to Arlathan?” She asks.

Victory raises an eyebrow at her “Shouldn’t you go with them?”

“No,” She says with a shake of her head “If it was Andruil, Dirthamen isn’t going to be inside the house, she will have taken him. I have an idea of where he could be, but I need to know my sons will be safe before I go.”

Victory sighs and runs his hand through his hair “You’re not going to listen to me when I say that going after her alone is a terrible idea likely to get the both of you killed, are you?”

Selene gives him a wry smile in lieu of an answer.

“I can help. Make a few calls to some old buddies of mine-”

“Thank you, but no. The longer I wait, the higher the chance that Dirthamen could actually be dead.”

He eyes her then, before placing a supporting hand on her shoulder “Don’t let these kids become orphans twice, alright?”

Selene nods, and offers him a more honest smile “I’ll do my best.”

 

They go back to the twins, and Selene explains to them that Victory will be flying them back to Arlathan that afternoon, and that she and Dirthamen will meet them there a little later.

Darevas nods, trying to put on a strong face, but he pulls the shock blanket closer to him still. Felasel looks ready to cry, and it tears at Selenes heart as she kisses the two of them goodbye and sees them safely into the back of Victorys SUV.

She gets back into her own vehicle and drives off, towards where she knows Andruils local mansion is. Tall and looming, gated off from the main roads with a driveway long enough to have its own zipcode. She knows the chances of being let in peaceably are low but Selene rings the buzzer anyway.

 

“Hello?” drawls Ghilan'nains voice through the speaker

“Yes, hello. Is Andruil in?” Selene replies, trying to sound casual.

There is silence for a minute, and Selene taps her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, debating if she could just climb the fence instead.

The gate buzzes open, though, and Selene barrels down the driveway until she reaches the front door. She steps out of the car and Ghlian'nain is waiting on the steps for her already.

“Hello Selene,” she greets, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes “What brings you to our home today?”

“I am here for my husband.” Selene answers plainly as she walks up the steps.

Ghilan'nain laughs “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I’m sure you’re lying. Pardon me,” she states as she steps around her without breaking her stride and into the house. Ghilan'nain follows her in, letting the front door close behind her.

‘ _Their wards are up. He’s definitely here somewhere_.’ Des informs her with a yawn.

“Where is he?” Selene asks, turning to face Ghilan'nain.

“Oh, siblings aren’t allowed to visit with each other anymore? Jealousy is a bad look on you.”

Selene’s eyes flash white as she hurls a small fireball at Ghilan'nain that lands just beside her head, singeing the edges of her hair and leaving a scorch mark on the wall.

“Where. Is. He.” Selene repeats.

The other woman frowns, as she crosses her arms behind her “You can throw a hissy fit all you like, it won’t bring him back.”

Selene strides towards her, arms aflame, and sees her take an uneasy step back in fear that she is trying not to show. “If your wife killed my husband, know that I am a firm believer in equivalent exchange,” Selene threatens, her voice low.

 

The color drains quickly from the womans face. Her eyes dart briefly to a door on the other side of the room, and Selenes gaze follows it. A mistake, she realizes as Ghilan'nain slams the back of her head with something hard and metallic she must have been hiding behind her back. Selene goes down as her vision spots and blurs. Ghilan'nain runs towards another door, disappearing down the hall.

Selenes hand drifts up to the back of her head, and feels something wet. Her hand is red with blood now, not drenched, but enough that it could be a problem if she ignores it for too long. She should have listened to Victory, should have brought reinforcements, should have been smarter about this. But Dirthamen is still here, somewhere, and definitely in worse shape than she is. She’s going to save him. She’s getting her husband back, her children are getting their  _father_ back.

No matter what.

’ _Des_ ’ she calls.

’ _Hm?_ “ he drawls.

’ _I need your help._ ’

’ _ **Obviously**. But there’s nothing I can do from over here, you know.’_

_'I know. Your offer still stands though?’_ _  
_

She can feel him perk up, press against her consciousness ’ _Really?_ ’

 

Selene hesitates. There’s no going back from this, she knows. Her body will never be her own again, her magic will change. Dirthamen or her children may even reject whatever she becomes.

But they will be alive to make that choice, at least.

’ _My sons and my husband stay safe. You make sure they survive.’_

_'Of course. You just have to say the magic word, my dear.’_

Selene takes a deep breath, sees spots in her vision when she does, and simultaneously in her head and aloud she says ” ** _Yes_**.“

 

It feels like she’s being ripped apart. Her skin burns, it  _burns_  and something is pressing directly beneath it, pushing out from within. Her nerves light up and her vision swims between the fade and reality. Her bones ache and her fingers grow, longer and longer until they are practically claws, sharpened into fine points at each tip. Her head aches, not from her wound but because there are horns splitting from her skull, up and up and curving out. Her body stands without her own command, and she can hear her neck creak as someone else turns it from side to side. She fights with it, wars with Des, with herself, with her own desires pressed up against his. Prioritizes them, starts to count and hears him counting with her until it is one voice with an echo and the room stops spinning. The edges of her vision are tinged purple, but she can see, and she can feel, and she feels  _ **alive**_.

She briefly wonders why she has been fighting so hard against this. It is fine to allow yourself to want things, after all. To have goals, and desires and purpose. Her magic is different, but it sits so much more comfortably inside of her, feels more like a part of her now than it ever has before.

 

There are foot steps around her, and she glances up to see several soldiers with guns pointed directly towards her. They are lining the tops of the stairs and positioned around the walls of the room.

Ah, private security.

 

’ _What do you want, Selene?_ ’  Asks a voice that no longer seems so different from her own.

’ _I want my husband back._ ’ She replies without hesitation.

Her face splits into a grin, wider than she thought was possible.

’ _Let’s take ourselves for a test run then_.’

 

Selene’s eyes glow, a violet this time instead of her usual white, and as she takes a step her foot leaves behind a scorch mark, still smoking in her place.

The soldiers open fire, and her barrier rises instinctively, ricocheting the bullets back out. A few of the soldiers fall, but she just keeps walking, her barrier moving with her. Selene lifts one arm up, hand open. She’s not sure how she knows this spell, but she knows it will work, feels Des curl his magic through hers as she closes her fist and the rest of them drop, coughing and sputtering up blood.

 

Some part of her mind thinks she should go help them. They’re hurt,  _she_  hurt them, maybe even killed them. But she thinks then of Dirthamen, holed up somewhere and probably dying someplace in this house and her guilt fades away while Des leads her towards him, following traces of his magic through the fade.

They pass through hall after hall, avoiding the main rooms where Des tells her there are more people waiting, security, or guests, or others that she is unconcerned with. They pass a mirror at one point, and Selene stalls for a moment. Her eyes are black instead of their usual green, even the whites have been eaten by the shadows. The horns are not quite as displeasing as she had feared, but they are very, very noticeable Her veins have taken on a distinctly purple tint, not unlike the color Des often gave off in the fade. Unsurprising, she supposes, although Des claims that the difference to her is minor, truly. ‘ _We are a match meant to be,’_ he purrs.

 

Selene finally comes upon a door that leads to what she knows is Andruils living room. It swings open beneath her touch, as she steps into the open area.

 

There is a large blood stain on the carpet, right in the middle of the room.

 

She is staring at it when Andruil walks out to the top of the stairs, likely trying for a dramatic entrance, but her steps falter when her eyes fall upon Selene’s newly acquired countenance.

"Where is my husband?” Selene asks, glad to have thrown off whatever game Andruil was going to attempt to play.

“What the fuck did you do?” Andruil whispers incredulously, hands gripping the railing as she rushes down to get a better look .

Selene remains still while Andruil circles her, eyeing her up like some beast on display.

 

“Where is my husband?” Selene repeats.

Andruil straightens, and crosses her arms over her chest “Dead.”

’ _Lying_ ’ Des informs her.

Selene takes only a split second to make her decision as she sees Ghilan'nain peeking out from the top of the stair case where Andruil had been.

 

“Shame.” she shrugs casually, yanking the other woman forcefully down the stairs with their magic. Selene steps over to the now unconsious body, lifting her head up by her hair and tracing a finger down her jawline. “I did warn you, you know.”

Andruil runs towards her, brandishing a knife, and Selene lifts up Ghilan'nain’s body between them as a shield. Andruils knife stops just short of her wives throat.

“Now,” Selene speaks, her voice echoing around them  "Let’s try this again. Where. Is Dirthamen.“

"Dying,” Andruil growls.

Probably not a lie. In the span of a split second, Selene drops Ghilan'nains body to the ground, and grabs ahold of Andruils neck in her place. Spinning them around, Selene presses the dark haired woman back into the wall, bending her fingers back with the other hand until the knife drops.  She tried to kill them, she thinks. Tried to kill her husband, and her children, and anyone else who could have been visiting. For what, power? Glory?

’ _Respect_ ’  whispers Des.

Ah.

“It wouldn’t have worked, you know.” Selene says, tightening her grip on the other womans throat, taking more enjoyment than she should from watching her try and fail to breathe. She allows the magic to flow through her, feels her body temperature rising, watches the other womans throat begin to burn purple and blister beneath her touch, watches the blood start to seep out where her claws have dug in. “You could kill every last sibling you have, and it wouldn’t change his disappointment in you.”

 

Andruils eyes widen, and she struggles to remove Selene’s grasp, scratches at her arms, tries to scream, tries to cast, but nothing works. Selene watches the womans eyes start to roll up into the back of her head, and releases her grip just enough to allow air to pass through her lungs. Andruil takes a deep, heaving breath, and Selene pulls her close, nose to nose now with her sister-in-law.

“If you ever come near my family again,” Selene threatens, voice low and quiet, as echoes permanently embed themselves into Andruils subconscious “You will beg for the mercy of death.”

With that, she smashes Andruils head back and into the wall, forcing her into unconsciousness and unceremoniously tossing her on top of Ghilan'nains body.

 

’ _Feels good, doesn’t it?_ ’

’ _We still haven’t found him,_ ’ Selene evades, claws flexing at her sides, as she feels Andruils blood still dripping down her wrist. If he’s dead, this will have all been for nothing. Des hums a tune inside her head, one she doesn’t think she’s heard before, but that sounds familiar all the same. He guides her feet towards a door, with stairs leading down, down, down, into the dark. At the bottom of the stairs is another door, and she opens it, into another dark, dark room.

Selene summons a small ball of fire to her hand for light, noting that it, too, is now purple. Her breath catches, as the light dances over a slumped over body, strapped into a chair. She knows that face. Through the bruises, and the blood, and the burn marks; she knows that face.

She loves that face.

“Dirthamen?” She whispers, walking towards him, slowly.

’ _don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead_ ’

She kneels down before him, letting the flame float beside them as she gently cups his face in her hands and pours healing magic into him. Her heart sinks with every passing moment that he doesn’t react.

’ _please please please_ ’ she begs.

He wakes with a gasp, head snapping up and out of her grasp as his eyes meet hers.

He looks terrified. She moves a hand back towards him, to try to soothe him before she realizes that they’re still claws, and liable to do more damage if he snaps away again. Focusing, carefully, she tries to retract them, the way she has seen other shapeshifters do. It hurts, as her bones settle back to their original length. But it works, and her hands are soft when she reaches for him again.

“Dirthamen…” She whispers to him. His eyes seem to focus then, as his brows raise in recognition.

“…Selene?”

She smiles. He’s alive,  _he’s alive, they’re all alive_. It was worth it, then. 

Completely, entirely worth it, just to hear him say her name again.

“Let’s get you out of here, hm?” she offers, as she stands to undo the ties and wards keeping him bound to the chair. It takes only a moment with Des’s help. Dirthamen falls forward when the pressure from the restraints is no longer helping to support him, but Selene catches him, whispering loving, soothing words to him. She slips one arm under his knees, using the other to support his back, encouraging him to rest his head on her shoulder as she carries him back up the stairs.

The house is empty now. No private security, no Ghilan'nain. No Andruil.

Dirthamen seems confused by the absence of other people as they make their way back to the car. Selene sets him gently down in the passenger seat, then focuses on readjusting her own body back to its original form. It still hurts, but is becoming more of a dull pain beneath the relief of having Dirthamen back,  _alive_.

 

Selene slides into the drivers seat and turns on the ignition, calmly driving the two of them down the driveway and out of Andruils estate. Dirthamens gaze hasn’t left her yet. At a red light, Selene notes him staring at her hands and arms, still stained with blood but at least it’s dry now.

“It’s not mine,” she offers, trying to ease whatever might be worrying him. Her eyes glance over the scratches on her arm though, from Andruils nails, and she frowns “Well, most of it isn’t mine, at least.”

 

It doesn’t seem to alleviate whatever is worrying him. “Where are the twins?” he murmurs. His voice is raspy, and Selene regrets not having a bottle of water with her to offer him.

“With Victory. On their way back to Arlathan by now. They got a little singed, but they’re both physically fine.”

Dirthamen lets out a quiet breath of relief then, and his head flops back against the seat. He falls asleep before long, and Selene has Des ensure that he stays alive for the rest of the trip to the hospital while she lets him rest.

 

He’s seen right away when she carries him into the emergency room. They question her, and she answers to the best of her abilities as to what happened, minus her own actions. She refuses to leave his side at any point, even as the doctor explains the need for an exploratory laparotomy. Selene watches from behind the glass as they cut her husband open, reminding herself that it’s going to help,  _it’s going to help, they’re going to fix it_.

 

She sits with Dirthamen in recovery, sets her phone to silent and sends off a few texts to Victory to ensure that he and the twins are safe. He sends back a picture of the three of them enjoying some milkshakes at one of their favorite ice cream shops back in Arlathan, and it settles one of the knots in her stomach. The twins clearly showered at some point, no longer covered in soot, and wearing some of their comfier outfits.

She rubs her thumb gingerly over the image before clicking her phone screen off, and sitting back in her chair. The heart monitors and IVs and various medical equipment chirp away. She glances back at Dirthamen, whose face is no longer swelling. Most of his cuts have been stitched back together, and it doesn’t appear they’ll leave any scars.

 

Selene hopes she left at least one on Andruil.

 

She sighs at that, knows it’s not something she would have hoped for before. She’ll have to talk to him about this, she supposes. Once he’s fully recovered, perhaps, and she knows that’s mostly her hoping for the maximum amount of time possible to stay with him. He could still reject her, reject  _them,_  like this. He may not like what she’s become.

 

Selene leans forward and gently brushes his hair back and out of his face. Watches her fingers, elvhen, and only slightly calloused move against his skin.

 

Her family is alive and safe now. That is enough.


	29. Fear and Desire

One of the things about Fear – it can always spot someone else who’s like them.

Uthvir remembers reading up on all the pitfalls of spiritual possession. Shortly after being possessed, of course, because prior to that it had mostly just seemed like one of those dangerous bogeyman type situations to be avoided at all costs. Which probably says a lot about Uthvir’s decision-making skills as a teen. But then things had changed, of course, and Fear had promised to help keep them safe, and, on the whole, they had adjusted very well to one another.

Of course, no one  _knows._

Well. Aelynthi’s nanae might. Melarue. Uthvir’s never been entirely sure if their own ‘companion’ has picked up on the signs, though they wouldn’t be surprised.

Selene, though. That’s new. Kel is six when the news of the fire spreads, and Victory comes back to Arlathan with little Darevas and Felasel, but no Dirthamen and Selene. And when they finally  _do_  get back, when Serahlin arranges a ‘family’ dinner and there’s talk of what to do about Andruil, Uthvir is thinking their primary contribution to the conversations will revolve around their brief and disastrous relationship with her.

But then they catch sight of Selene, and Selene catches sight of them, and all the hairs on the back of their neck stand at attention. Their gaze narrows, and Selene is lit up like a beacon; outlined, briefly, in purple flames and something that hasn’t quite meshed in with her, something bright and fierce and still figuring out how to move with her.

Suddenly, Uthvir suspects they know how Selene retrieved Dirthamen from Andruil.

And judging by the way Selene is staring at them, in turn, their own little secret has just become rather less secure.

Dinner is a bit more awkward than anticipated.

Kel wants to hug her aunt and uncle, of course, but Fear is very on edge. It’s a little like having two fighting fish suddenly dropped into the same bowl. Uthvir folds their arms and sits back in their chair, watching as Selene closes her arms around their daughter, listening to Fear hiss.  _Desire,_  it says.  _Desire is dangerous._

_More dangerous than we are?_  Uthvir wonders. The halo of purple fire they’d glimpsed is gone, now, though they suspect that if they slipped a little further towards the other side of the coin, they could easily see it again. Fear doesn’t answer their inquiry with any degree of coherence; there are too many ‘maybe’ and ‘depends upon the circumstances’ style answers, Uthvir thinks, and that just sends their own partner spiralling off into worse-case scenarios and contingencies and enough hypothetical dangers to enthrall the most dedicated conspiracy theorist.

The restaurant’s lighting feels a little dimmer than usual when they finally call Kel back over to her seat between themselves and Thenvunin.

The exception would be the lamp at their pressed-together congregation of tables; the flame in that is burning particularly bright.

But apart from some awkward shuffling and glances, the only real incident of the evening is when little baby Rissa manages to launch a spoon halfway across the restaurant. Otherwise, everyone is just hugging and chatting and reassuring themselves that their little circle hasn’t been broken. Checking on Dirthamen and Selene and spoiling the twins, and letting their relief spill-over into fussing over all the other children, too.  Kel ends up sitting in their lap and stealing half of their fries, while Isabela sneaks under the table, and the twins cling somewhat to anyone who cares to hold them.

“Mamae’s like Nabae Uthvir and Grandnanae now,” Felasel opines, at one point, which prompts a few questions but only really seems to sink in for Uthvir, Selene, and Dirthamen.

So. Dirthamen probably knows about Selene, then.

They’re going to have to address this.

But not the first evening back, they think. They finish dinner and part with the usual farewells, hugs and kisses and mostly waves, on Uthvir and Tasallir’s parts. Tonlen and Rissa are dropping off, by then, and Kel is yawning, and Thenvunin has to get up early for work in the morning. Uthvir doesn’t think it’s  _too_  conspicuous when they pick their daughter up, and tuck her close, and keep themselves between Thenvunin and Selene as they leave the restaurant.

It’s not that they don’t trust Selene, overall, really. If they had to risk it, they would err on the side of her  _not_  suddenly deciding that one of her chief desires was harming Uthvir’s family. But they know how difficult it can be to resist impulses when these things are fresh, and, well. Fear. Over-caution is an impulse that is difficult for them to resist, in turn. And they’ve been possessed for more than a decade, now.

But apparently they aren’t quite as subtle as they’d hoped, because after they get home and tuck Kel into bed, Thenvunin sweeps his arms around them.

“Sometimes I forget Dirthamen and Andruil are siblings,” he says. “Are you alright?”

It takes Uthvir a moment to realize what he means.

Right.

Andruil.

“I might be a bit… tense, for a while,” they allow. “But there’s no need to worry.”

Thenvunin sighs, and holds them a little closer. They give in, after a minute, and curl back into him in return. Letting out a long breath, trying to ease up on their concerns enough that they can sort through them.

Tomorrow is their day off. Aelynthi’s as well, they believe. He should be amenable to the idea of taking Kel to a show in the city, in the event that Uthvir can get Selene to agree to meet with them. Alone. Or possibly with Dirthamen as well, they could handle that, they suppose. Then there would be an opportunity to… sort some things out.

In the end Selene calls them first, though. In morning, shortly after Thenvunin leaves for work. Her voice is a bit hesitant on the phone, and they suspect she might be thinking a little more about  _what_  she is saying, rather than being particularly nervous over saying it. They call Aelynthi afterwards, and he’s more than happy to take Kel off for some quality time, and then they make up a pleasant lunch and end up sitting across from a Desire abomination in their kitchen.

Their somewhat darker-than-usual kitchen.

Selene shifts, and Uthvir takes a look again. Purple fire, but there’s red, too. And long nails, like their own. A certain shadow that hints at horns. They wonder what she sees when she looks at them?

The connection is smooth enough that she’s probably known this spirit for a while, anyway. Desire. She must have been lonely for a long time, Uthvir thinks; she must have desired companionship enough that it kept such a spirit coming back, time and again. Drawn in twice over, most likely.

“Des can’t figure out what you are,” Selene finally tells them, breaking the stalemate. “I asked Felasel. He says you’ve always had ‘extra shadows’.”

“For as long as he’s known me, certainly,” Uthvir agrees. “For as long as you have, too, for that matter.”

Selene lets out a breath.

“How long, exactly?” she wonders. “Does Thenvunin know?”

Uthvir hesitates.

“Since I was fourteen,” they finally admit. “And no, he doesn’t. Glory doesn’t, either. No one’s supposed to, really. It’s not in my nature to be forthcoming about it.”

Selene shifts a little.

“Your nature…?” she prompts.

_Don’t say. Keep her guessing. If she knows what we are she can use it against us._

“Like I said. It’s not in that nature to be forthcoming,” they reply.

“…Deception…?” Selene ventures.

It’s a fair guess. Definitely on a similar spectrum, at least. Uthvir sips their tea, and silence falls between them again. The air in the room heats up, a little. Selene has a certain glint in her gaze. A sparkling light in the shadows that fall there, now.

“Fear,” she realizes. “What a dull answer,” she adds, and then her expression twists downwards, falling away from dismissiveness into sympathy. Uthvir almost winces in returned sympathy over the discord, there. “You must have been terrified, to manage that.”

“Your spirit friend is a bit of asshole, hmm?” they surmise.

Selene’s expression scrunches.

“Yes,” she finally allows. “But only a bit.”

They nod.

“You realize your personality is a spectrum now, right?” they ask. That, near as they have gleaned from a dozen secret message boards and illegal books, can be the hardest bit to grasp. Figuring it out had been instrumental for them. “On one end there’s pure Selene, and on the other end there’s pure Desire. Some impulses will come from places closer to one end or the other. Some days you’ll be closer to one end or the other. The closer you are to the spirit, the likelier you’ll be to give yourself away. But regardless of which side you’re nearest to, it’s all running on the same rails, now.”

Selene blinks, and stares at them for a moment.

“…Oh,” she says.

Uthvir looks at her for a moment, and then pushes her mug a little closer.

“Drink your coffee,” they advise.

They’re trying to remember. There had been a user on one of the message boards they frequented, back when they were a teenager, who had been a desire abom. They’d been very fond of trying to come up with alternate terminology for abominations. Spirit-kin, melds, multi-part magicfolk, that sort of thing. Desire is different from Fear, Uthvir knows, because it wants to be realized. Fear… not so much. Fear is cautious, by nature. Desire is covetous. Its impulses are to take, not to hide. To move forward, rather than withdraw.

Desire is bold.

What a tremendous pain in the ass that must be.

“So,” they finally say. “I imagine, once things settle down, you’ll be needing someone to look after the twins for all that marathon sex you and Dirthamen will be having.”

Selene stares at them, and then actually  _does_  crack a grin, and take a sip of her coffee.

“Are you afraid of me?” she wonders. She sounds at once fascinated and concerned.

Uthvir sighs, and shifts uncomfortably, and at length they shrug.

“Yes?” they offer. “Don’t let it go to your head. Or take it personally. You just changed a lot of variables around – though I do appreciate you rampaging through Andruil’s house and kicking her ass. That must have been a sight to see.”

Selene smiles, and then frowns a little.

“I don’t feel badly about it,” she says. “I think I would have, before.”

“If I may be so bold,” they venture. “I would suggest that you wanted to do it. In this case I would say no harm done, but from now on, what you  _desire_  is going to feel a lot more compelling than what your conscience demands, or what your, ahem,  _fears_  would ordinarily hold you back from. Desire can be one hell of a liability to survival.”

Selene’s gaze narrows a little, and she drums her long, purple nails atop the table.

“And what exactly is the point of surviving if you don’t do anything  _you want_  with your life?” she counters, in a voice that’s got a little more drawl in it than usual.

“Gratification comes in a lot of ways, but all doors are shut when you’re dead,” Uthvir counters, as the grey light spilling in from the windows dims a bit; like clouds passing over the sun. Their shoulders tense, somewhat, and they lean back in their chair, as Selene leans forward and folds her elbows over the tabletop.

“I haven’t turned  _suicidal,”_  she informs him. “And everyone dies sooner or later.”

“Yes. But provided Desire here doesn’t get you killed for existing, you’ve just padded out your potential life expectancy to ‘infinite’,” Uthvir replies.

Selene stares.

She’s internally conferring on that comment, they can tell. Asking her less noble half – and, judging by the growing sense of fear in her, not liking the answers she’s getting. On one level, it’s an interesting process to watch.  Uthvir can feel her fears even more intensely than most people’s. They doubt it’s an emotion the Desire demon has a lot of firsthand experience coping with, and so most of its bleeding out, rushing into their magic and – ah.

That explains her penchant for unexpected fires, then. It’s like the gods fit them together with everything except a decent coping mechanism.

“I can’t live forever,” Selene says, shakily. “I  _can’t._  I have a husband, I have babies, they’re going to grow up. They’re going to grow old.”

She’s terrified of losing them. And Desire wants to keep them, too, Uthvir thinks. It was probably written into their contract.

The longevity thing has always been easier for them to cope with. It was the whole reason they made their own, after all. To be safe, to survive, to not let the world destroy them.

But…

They have a husband, too. They have a baby.

“I could make them like me,” Selene says. Murmurs, really, her voice desperate, and then she trails off as realization sinks in. That’s not her call to make, in fact. And judging by the conflict on her face, she knows it. If she starts going around forcing spirits into the bodies of her loved ones, she’ll be no better than the monster she fears becoming. She wants to keep them, but if she distorts them and warps them to do that, then it’s pure selfishness.

Uthvir watches, to see what will prevail.

Selene’s expression falls, and she drops her face into her hands.

“Oh no,” she says. “How could I even consider…?”

Uthvir closes their own eyes for a moment.

“You think I have not?” they reply. No part of them wants to lose Thenvunin and Kel, to watch them die. “It is an ordinary thing to consider. They talk about possession like it is the end of yourself, but it isn’t. If you do it right, it’s just another chapter. Surely that chapter would be better than withering away? Than dying? Than losing them? But, it’s not our call to make. They are beautiful, and happy, and content as they are. We don’t get to change that, just because we’re afraid to lose them, or want to keep them.”

_We should. We could. Just find them little spirits, little ones that are in keeping with their natures…_

They let out a heavy breath.

Selene is staring down at the tabletop in front of her.

On the counter, the coffee pot starts to boil. The flames in her aura flicker, and twist, fighting, and she drops her face into her hands again. Her shoulders shake. Uthvir gives her a moment, before tentatively venturing up out of their seat. They rest a hand just lightly against her shoulder; and then a little more firmly, when she only begins to cry.

“I don’t want to outlive my babies,” she says. “I don’t want to.”

Uthvir sighs.

“If it’s any consolation, the life expectancy of an abomination  _isn’t_  all that high,” they say. “Dirthamen can keep you safe from Andruil outing you over this, for now, but we are technically illegal in… every country, I think. Tevinter is comparatively lenient, but discovery is still pretty much a death sentence. We’re better off than most because we have connections, and access to information. Not ageing isn’t the same as never dying, though. If you fuck up badly enough, you probably won’t outlive your husband by very much.”

Selene blinks up at them, and looks just a little bewildered.

“How did that actually make me feel better?” she wonders. A watery chuckle escapes her. “That was the worst consolation in the world.”

Uthvir shrugs.

“It’s probably an abomination thing. Thenvunin usually makes a pinched face and tells me I’m not helping when I offer him perspectives like that,” they reason. They grab her some Kleenex off of the counter, then, and after a moment, settle back into their chair.

Selene manages a few deep breaths, and regains some of her composure.

“I feel like I’m going through the worst mood swings,” she says.

“Desire’s experiencing your emotional range firsthand, now,” Uthvir explains.

“Des,” Selene absently corrects.

“Sorry?” Uthvir asks, perplexed.

“He goes by Des. Male pronouns, too,” she illuminates.

“Ah,” they say. That’s… actually easier. Less same-name confusion, they suppose. “Well. Des, welcome to the wide world of in-depth emotional range. Spirits are accustomed to acting upon the vast majority of their impulses. Normally that isn’t a huge problem because they’re in the Fade, and also because their impulses are determined by a fairly simplistic motivation, based on whatever they happen to embody. Now that the two of you have done your fusion-dance, however, Des is going to have to learn to cope with a broader emotional range and the need for restraint, the same way Selene is going to have to cope with a vast surplus of magical potency, and considerably more tunnel-vision. That is, of course, only if you’re not gunning to ruin your entire life.”

Selene blinks, and frowns, and then nods.

“That… makes sense,” she allows.

Uthvir inclines their head.

“The tricky part is knowing where to move along your new spectrum for different situations, and managing to do it consciously,” they explain. “You will have to practice that. It’s easier for me because Fear is disinclined to lunge out into the open anyway.”

“Dirthamen is helping,” Selene assures them.

Uthvir feels a pang. It takes a moment for them to identify it as  _envy,_  before they carefully pack that response away. They don’t, on balance, want to tell Thenvunin. They don’t dare want to risk it. But would he…?

…It doesn’t merit consideration right now, anyway.

“Well. If you need a space, Thenvunin and I have a lake house you can use,” they offer.

Selene taps her nails again. On the side of her mug, this time. They wonder if she realizes that she’s elongated them so much.

“Thank you. But I don’t know if it’s safe for us to go somewhere so remote. If I… if there’s an emergency…”

Uthvir waits.

She sucks in a deep breath, and lets it out again.

“We – I – won’t hurt them on purpose. I know that. But…”

_But I’m a monster, now. I’m an abomination. I’m the warning story._  They think of Kel’s mother, killing her own lover. Dying in a hailstorm of bullets. That’s abominations, that’s what they are, so far as basically everyone – except maybe some Avvar religions and a few Rivaini sects – is concerned. It sounds like the premise of a horror movie, Uthvir supposes. Family retreat to a remote cabin, but secretly the mage mother is an abomination, and then the whole thing turns into survival horror as the children try to escape from demons crawling up the floorboards…

Selene trails off. They sit a while longer, as lunch goes uneaten, and the remainder of the coffee cools.

“Glory’s magic manifested when they were seven. We were living in Arlathan, then,” they say. “The school sent home a note of congratulations, and recommended Glory receive special tutoring. That was it. A few years later, our mother got a job on a film shooting in Kirkwall. I was seven, too, when my magic manifested. I raised my hand it class and three wisps sparked up along with it. The teacher screamed bloody murder, and hit an alarm. I was separated from the class by a school security guard, who took me down to the fire station. My mother had to sign six different forms before she was deemed ‘sufficiently educated’ to continue housing me. While she was filling them out, I was sleeping on a cot in a cell in the fire house basement, while everyone looked at me like I’d just turned into an abomination on the spot.”

Selene frowns, but doesn’t look surprised, of course. Everyone knows about Kirkwall.

Uthvir grins.

“It took me eight more years to get to the abomination stage, of course. And then I went and became an illegal blood mage, too. I’m a bastard, an elf, and if I’d been born poor, I’d probably be dead. And I’m also a respected member of the community, with a wonderful husband, an amazing daughter, friends, family… our lives are not the narratives of cautionary tales. You’re not doomed, Selene. And now that you’ve clearly survived the first twenty-four hours of possession disorientation, you’re at almost no risk of hurting your sons or Dirthamen if it’s not something you  _desire._ ”

It’s strange, talking to someone about this. In person, anyway. It’s been years since they even felt compelled to discuss it in some anonymous online forum, behind the shields of however many proxies and redirections they could find. There’s always a risk with it, of course, and now that they have too much to lose to just pack their bags and disappear into the night if they need to, the ability to vent or discuss had seemed less important than staying safe.

But maybe their silence had been doing more harm to them than they thought. Because they’re almost enjoying this, now.

Selene narrows her eyes at them, and seems to figure this out.

“You  _want_  to tell Thenvunin,” she says.

They come up short.

Their grin slips, and give her another long, assessing look. Desire abom. Right.

“Filters,” they say, after a minute. Tutting, redirecting the conversation onto her oversight and away from their own vulnerability. They sip their disgusting, cold coffee. “Don’t make a habit of going around and telling people what they want. At best, it will make you look insightful, or presumptuous. At worst, it’ll be a tip-off.”

“But why don’t you just-“

Uthvir tuts, again.

“ _Fear_ , Selene. Keep up with the class,” they snap, a bit more harshly than they meant to.

One of her eyebrows arches up.

“Oh, are  _you_  the teacher, now?” she drawls. “Ready to mentor me all through my beginner’s steps of abominationhood? How quaint. Fear’s special lessons on running and hiding and covering yourself in spiky things to look scary.”

Uthvir sneers a little in return, but Fear doesn’t really rise to those kinds of insults. It stays back, coiling through the shadows, ready to act at threats far more than baiting.

“One vulture turns to another, and says, ‘what’s that you’re eating? It looks offal’,” they reply. Thenvunin showed Kel that joke this morning, off of a phone app that sends him bird watching jokes. Among other bird-related news events and issues.

Selene’s eyes widen, and breaks into a fit of giggles. Uthvir sips some more cold coffee, wincing around their mug, as the giggles grow, and then break into some teary-eyed hysterics, as if they’d just told the very height of verbal humour. Soon enough Selene is looking as bewildered as she does amused, laughing and leaning heavily onto the table. Uthvir times it. It takes her about twenty minutes to stop.

“…What was that?” she finally asks. “That made no sense!”

“You seemed to find it pretty amusing,” they reply.

“I don’t even know  _why,”_  she replies, just plain baffled, now. And a little worried.

“It is a mystery, I suppose,” they say, and finally give up on the coffee. It’s not worth the bonus points to their seeming nonchalance.

Selene’s eyes narrow, in their new, rather un-Selene-like fashion. She folds her arms, and they can see those horns a little better, not.

“You know why,” she notes.

They shrug.

Her lips purse.

“It’s because it was a surprise. It didn’t make any sense, but the joke was a little funny,” she says. “Des reacted too strongly to the humour because of the surprise. I couldn’t brace for it or reign him in, because I didn’t know it was coming and I couldn’t explain it to him, so he just… lost it.”

“Good deduction,” Uthvir commends. “I suppose you won’t be needing my help after all. Good luck the first time a car backfires, by the way. I have no idea how Des will take that. Fear had me jumping out of a window and hiding in the bushes for three and a half hours, but far be it for me to deprive you of those kinds of wondrous firsthand experiences.”

Selene frowns. And then she sighs, and then she drops her face into her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I know,” they allow. “Your co-pilot is very smug. Fear gravitates towards condescension. Just the spirit, of course,  _I_  happen to be the very picture of humility.”

Selene snorts.

But after a few moments, she pulls her hands away from her face.

“So,” she says. “About that lake house…”

Uthvir smiles.


	30. The Lake House

The lake house is lovely. And secluded. And Selene misses her children enough that she and Des have already come up with 5 different ways they could escape and get back to them before Dirthamen could catch on and stop them.

  
She drums her fingernails against the countertop while Dirthamen reads through some old books he thought might be relevant to their current predicament. Takes a step towards the door. Dirthamen pauses, mid turning the page and looks up at them with a raised eyebrow.  
  


He’s caught on more quickly to their behavioral patterns than either of them expected. Selene would be grateful, if it weren’t so infuriating.   
  


“Maybe I just wanted to go for a swim,” they attempt.

“Your bathing suit is still packed in the bedroom, in that case.”

“So i’ll swim naked. You could join me,” she drawls, with a smirk.

“Is that actually what you want?”

 

Selene pauses. She does want to have sex, after all. Still wants Dirthamen as badly as ever, more even. But for all of Fear- _Uthvir_ s jokes about Marathon sex, they still haven’t actually  _had_  any since the incident. Des is ready, eager, even. He can’t summon images quite as clearly as he once could, but he’s quickly learning that words can summon their own sort of need if he finds the right ones. 

But Selene isn’t sure where on her spectrum consent becomes an issue, and has no interest in risking that. It’s lead to a lot of false starts, with her excusing herself for some alone time that’s not really ‘alone’ anymore whenever she starts to feel too overcome.  
Which is often, now. Despite Dirthamen’s enjoyment of stop-and-go, she’s fairly certain even he’s reaching his limit.

He’s still recovering from his surgery, anyways. Everytime she sees the scar on his stomach from where they had to perform the laparotomy, Selene wants more than anything to go out and kill Andruil. Shouldn’t have let her go the first time. If she’s dead, she can’t tell anyone about what happened, and after all, and she certainly deserves it. Should have just held her throat closed a bit longer, dug her nails in a little harder, and-  
Selene lets out a heavy sigh.

That’s not her. 

“Maybe I’ll just go for a walk then,”

“Would you like me to join you?”

“I wouldn’t want to disturb your reeducation of what a monster I am via outdated texts by biased authors,” she scoffs. Then she blinks and runs her hand down her face with a groan “ I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

Dirthamen closes the book and leans his head on his hand, while he stares at her.

“Is this what it has sounded like in your head for all these years?” he questions.

“No. Yes? Sort of. It’s complicated.”

He glances from one side of her to the other and tilts his head slightly “Are we not here to discuss and deal wth such complications?”  
  


Selene frowns, and scrunches up her face. He’s certainly not wrong. But she’s spent, what, nearly a decade avoiding almost this exact topic with Dirthamen? She can sleep now, at least. And he’s alive, and so are their children. Hasn’t she done enough already? Given up enough of herself for him? Surely he doesn’t need to know  _everything_. She lets out another sigh.

“I’m going out.”

She doesn’t wait for his response, as she closes the front door behind her.  
  


 

She’s angry. She shouldn’t be angry, but she is.  _It’s not his fault_ , she reasons.  _I made the choice. I asked to come out here. He’s been very understanding, really._

But the anger remains, as she trudges through the forest, avoiding the trails. She climbs up several of the sturdier looking trees, the way she used to when she was a child. It’s much less fulfilling as an adult, she finds. Everything seems much smaller, and the tops can’t support her weight anymore. 

She jumps down, landing gracefully on the forest bed after her fourth tree, and kicks the trunk in her frustration. She stares at it again for a moment, before pressing her forehead up against the trunk and mumbling an apology.

  
’ _This is ridiculous You couldn’t have killed me when you possessed me like a normal demon?’_

_’_ _After the amount of time I poured into you? That would have been an awful waste.’_

_'All that time and you never bothered to mention the potential immortality’_

_'You would never have agreed if you knew.’_

_'Liar.’_

_’ **Demon,** ’_ he supplies.

She supposes she has to give him that one, as she slides down to sit at the base of the tree.

  
’ _You still don’t understand, do you?_ ’ Des hums

_'Evidently not.’_

_'You’re still resisting me. Even now. All you actually want is to be with your husband, and your family, and your clan, but instead you’re sitting in the forest alone in the middle of nowhere.’  
_

_'I don’t **have**  a clan,’ _Selene points out.

_'Oh please. You are the only one who refuses to use that term for your little cluster of found families. You’re part of a new clan now, Selene. Stop fighting yourself. Go enjoy the people you love while they are still around. Indulge them. Indulge **in**  them. It is not selfish to enjoy your life.’_

She doesn’t respond to that. Doesn’t have anything to say against it, because she actually agrees with his reasoning.

 

  
She watches the sun begin to set through the trees, and treks back towards the house, trying to decide on an appropriate apology.

Dirthamen is outside by the lake when she arrives. His shirt is missing, and his wings are out, and he looks stunning in the starlight.

“Thenvunin is going to be upset if you scare away his birds you know,” she teases.

Dirthamen turns quickly to face her. He seems relieved, somehow.  
  


Oh.  
  


“You thought I left you,” she states, abruptly stopping in her tracks.

“I was concerned it was a possibility,” he allows.

She scrubs her hand down her face “I’m sorry. I was a jerk. I didn’t mean to-I wouldn’t just leave you. I’m not,” she sighs “Despite being…whatever I am now, I still love you. I always will. I’m sorry for making you doubt that.”

“I love you too,” he smiles, walking towards her and placing his hand in hers.

It shoots through her like lightning. It’s ridiculous, such a light, innocent touch. It shouldn’t ignite her like that, but her nerves all jolt awake.

  
Her legs catch fire.  
  


Dirthamen blinks, and shoves her into the lake.

 

She resurfaces, coughing and sputtering and dripping wet, her clothes and hair clinging to her skin.

“What the hell was that for?” she cries, climbing her way out.

He stares at her for a moment, and his eyes widen. His lips quirk to the side and he manages “You look like a wet angry cat,” before he bursts out into laughter.

It makes her laugh too. Carefree, and back to the two awkward kids in college navigating miscommunication and first times, and awkward sexual tensions.   
  


It’s nice.  
  


She walks over to him and takes her shirt off, then wrings it out over his head until his own hair is soaked too. 

“That seems appropriate,” he chuckles, still coming down from his own laughing fit.

She hums in agreement, and moves a single finger beneath his chin, lifting him until they are eye to eye, and presses her lips gently against his.  

“Is that alright?” she whispers, still concerned about his own comforts given the new third party member.

He nods, and she swallows, then glances back to his wings.  
  


“Sit down.” she orders.

He does, and she circles around to the back of him and plops down behind him. Flips through her phone until she finds her music app, and puts on a calming playlist.

“If you get uncomfortable, tell me,” she instructs.

“I believe we came here to help  _you_  heal,” he argues.

“You’re the one who nearly died. Now let me pamper you.”

There is silence from him, before she sighs and adds a quiet “Please.”

He fans his wings out a bit, and turns the volume up on her phone.  
  


She settles behind him, and begins to straighten his feathers, running her fingers through them. They’re very soft. He doesn’t take them out often. Once or twice when the twins have asked, but there just isn’t the sort of space they need to really let them loose in the city. Of course there was the dance, when they were younger, but…  
She trails her index finger down the edge of one, watching the bristles move beneath her touch.   
  


He’s here. He’s alive. He’s safe.  
And she was still avoiding him.  
  


She places a kiss to his back, to the skin between his wings. A silent apology.

He lets out a soft sigh, and some of the tension eases out of him. She smiles, and feels something wet fall down her cheek. She ignores it, assumes it’s just water from her hair drying. But soon her vision is blurry, and she’s shaking and Dirthamen turns around in a panic and she realizes that she’s crying.

“What is wrong?” he asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She’s not upset though. Neither of them are. Everything is great, and they are safe, and they are loved, and they are trusted and…oh.

“I’m just happy,” she manages through her tears “I have everything that I want.”


	31. Mama's Shadow

Felasel’s mama swallowed her shadow.

Her fire shadow.

That’s how he thinks of it, anyway. The whole event was… not good. Papae got hurt, and the house caught fire, because Aunt Andruil is a bad person. He understands that part. It was the most scary when they didn’t know where their parents were. Then voices kept coming whenever he shut his eyes, whispering that Felasel could find them if he just went with them. They were lying, but Felasel didn’t want them to be lying, and that made it a lot harder to ignore them.

But then all the voices burnt up. Just like the house, except much less scary. There was a bright flash in his dreams while he and Darevas were napping, and all the whispering words went away, and he felt like Mama’s shadow was there. Like Mama was there, too, maybe.

He wasn’t really surprised when Uncle Victory told them that everything was okay, now, that Papae had been hurt and needed to rest, but that Mama had gone and gotten him. Felasel’s mama is a very strong person.

He isn’t even all that surprised when she comes back different. It sort of makes sense.

Now she looks more like Nabae Uthvir, or Grandnanae Melarue. Except different, too. But they look different from each other as well, so it’s probably just like hair colour or something. Felasel hugs his mama tight when she gets back, and she hugs him back and promises him that everything’s going to be okay, which is exactly what he wants to hear most. When she says it, Felasel believes it.

Darevas has more troubles.

Normally it’s Felasel who has troubles. Who cries more, or gets upset or overwhelmed more easily. But this time it’s his brother who doesn’t want to let go of Papae and Mama, who keeps getting scared at night time and hiding in Felasel’s bed, who cries a lot and needs the most hugs and quiet time. Felasel sneaks him some candy, even though he’s not supposed to. It helps his brother feel better, though, so he thinks that’s more important. Felasel tries to explain things, too, but Darevas doesn’t believe him. He’s afraid that Mama and Papae are going to suddenly hate them, like Aunt Andruil suddenly decided she hated Papae.

After Mama and Papae get back home from one of Papae’s hospital visits to – to check on how good his insides are healing – Mama takes Felasel aside for a talk.

“You know Mama’s different now, don’t you?” she asks.

Felasel nods.

His mama looks sad, and worried. He presses his thumb to the little line between her brows as she kneels in front of him, and it eases, some.

“But you know that doesn’t change anything between us, right?” Mama asks. “I still love you, and I’m always going to, and I’ll never hurt you.”

“I know,” Felasel says confidently.

She smiles.

“At dinner, the other night,” she says, then. “You mentioned that I’m like Grandnanae and Uthvir. What did you mean, sweetheart?”

Felasel frowns, and then shrugs. He tries to explain as best he can, about things being separate but then together, and apart-but-not. He’s not sure he gets it right, but Mama seems to understand anyway. She tells him he’s brilliant, and she’s very proud, but that he shouldn’t mention it to anyone else. Especially not anyone outside of the family. It’s a secret, and it’s not safe to talk about, she tells him.

Felasel understands ‘not safe’ a lot better than he did before.

He nods, and he doesn’t say anything about it. Not even to Darevas. That’s easy, though, because Darevas doesn’t really see things the same way. So he doesn’t even ask about Mama’s shadow. When Mama and Papae have to go away, Felasel understands, even though it’s hard. Mama has to learn her magic again. She doesn’t want to make accidental fires where the two of them can see and get scared.

But Darevas doesn’t understand. He gets upset, and yells mean things, sometimes, and cries a lot until Mama and Papae come back from their trip. Then their parents hug them close, and Darevas cries and Mama cries, and Felasel and Papae do, too, because it’s hard not to when everyone else is.

“I’m sorry,” Darevas says. His face is all red and messy, and half buried in Mama’s shirt.

“Shh,” Mama tells him, rocking him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, da’vhenan. We never wanted time away from  _you.”_

“I’m sorry,” Darevas repeats, hiccoughing. “I didn – please, please don’t go. I’ll be good. I didn’ mean to be bad, I didn’-“

“Hush, now, you were never bad,” Mama insists. “And even if you were, we’d forgive you. No one’s mad at you at all. We’re back, and we’re not leaving again. Okay?”

Darevas nods, and hiccoughs some more. He says something about playing with Papae’s phone even though he’s not supposed to, before Aunt Andruil came. Their parents say it’s okay, that they’re not mad about it, and then Darevas cries until he falls asleep in Mama’s arms. By the time he does, Felasel is feeling warm and fuzzy. Mama’s new, changed shadows are wrapped all around him, and his brother, and Papae. Holding them tight, even though it just feels like the room’s a little warmer than it was before. It makes him sleepy, and relieved.  _Safe,_  he thinks, as he presses his own face against Papae’s shoulder.

~

A few weeks after Mama and Papae come back from the lake, things start really getting better. Darevas is much happier, even though he still gets nervous about stuff more often than usual, and asks for more hugs. And holds Felasel’s hand more than he did before, too. Papae tells them that they’re going to visit with a person who’s going to ask them some questions, and play games with them, and listen if they want to talk about stuff that they maybe don’t want to tell any friends or family. Her job’s to talk to kids after bad things happen.

Darevas doesn’t like her, at first. Felasel doesn’t see why. She’s very nice, and she has a good voice, and there’s nothing scary in her shadows. Eventually Darevas warms up to her, though, and sometimes they talk to her together, and sometimes they talk to her separately.

Felasel doesn’t tell her about Mama’s shadow, though. He promised, and she doesn’t really ask questions about that anyway. Sometimes she asks him about his parents’ magic, and how he feels about it. What he thinks of spells, and fire and things like that. Felasel likes magic. It’s pretty. He’s not afraid of fire; the fire wasn’t really the scary part. Losing Papae was.

The meetings don’t usually last for very long, and then either Mama or Papae come and pick them up, and sometimes take them to the zoo or the park, or out for lunch afterwards. There’s a schedule, and Felasel’s good with schedules, so he figures out very quickly that the sessions are thirty minutes, on Saturday mornings, and they end when the clock on the wall has one hand on the ten and one hand on the twelve.

Felasel knows something has gone different when Doctor Idhal tells them to wait in the room, and leaves before the hands are on the ten and the twelve. But he doesn’t really figure out that something is  _wrong_  until he feels a flicker-flick in his head, and then he puts down the toy he’d been playing with, and pulls Darevas away from his drawing.

“What is it?” his brother asks.

“Grandpapae’s here,” Felasel tells him.

Grandpapae is Papae’s father. Normally this wouldn’t be cause for alarm, but after Aunt Andruil…

Darevas doesn’t bother to ask how he knows. His brother just takes his hand tight, and looks around the room, and then pulls him over to the big desk. They cram their way underneath it, both of them only just managing to fit as they squish together. Then Darevas takes out the emergency phone that Papae gave them, and presses the button.

It rings just once.

“Boys?” Mama asks, worried-sounding. “What’s wrong?”

“Felasel says Grandpapae’s here,” Darevas replies, whispering. “We’re hiding. He’s not going to try to kill us, is he, Mama?”

Felasel’s lip trembles. They’d talked about this, before. Not with Doctor Idhal, though, just with each other. Darevas had been worried that aunts and uncles and other family could just try and hurt you, and there’d be no way to know it was gonna happen, and Felasel had pointed out that Papae’s family has always been  _weird,_  and they’d managed to reason out that maybe the reason everyone talked about them funny was because of stuff like this. Because Papae’s family isn’t a right, good family, and that’s why they don’t see them as often, too.

Mama says a bad word.

But then when she talks to them, her voice is comforting.

“No, da’vhenan, he’s not going to do anything. I’m on my way right there. Where’s Doctor Idhal?”

“She left,” Felasel says, whispering over his brother’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Mama says, and it sounds like she’s running, now. “I have to go, so I can get in the car and drive to you, but if anything happens you hit the emergency button again. Okay?”

“Okay, Mama,” Darevas replies, and holds the phone close after they hang up. It’s a good thing they stop right then anyway, because that’s when they hear the door to the office open again. The both of them freeze, and hold their breaths.

_Is Papae alright?_

Felasel wishes they’d asked Mama. He holds his brother as they hear the footsteps get closer, and he wonders if he could make the both of them invisible. With magic. He wishes he could. He thinks about it very hard, and he thinks Darevas might be trying, too. But they don’t manage anything, and the footsteps move around the desk, and then Grandpapae is there.

He’s wearing his jeans, and his orange sweater. There’s a big bag of cookies in his hand, and a soft, sad look on his face.

“What are you two doing under there?” he asks.

He doesn’t seem like he’s planning on murdering anybody.

In fairness, Felasel supposes, Aunt Andruil always  _kind of_  did.

“We’re… we’re just playing,” Darevas says. “Hide and… hide.”

Grandpapae frowns, and kneels down.

“Hiding from what?” he wonders. He doesn’t sound mad. He doesn’t even sound as loud as he usually does, which is good, because Felasel doesn’t think he could take that big, booming voice right now. He’s almost whispering.

“Nothing,” Darevas says.

“You,” Felasel tells him, almost at the same time.

Grandpapae looks like he just got told the worst news ever. His face falls, and his energy goes all pale and quiet. And then a moment later it flares again, and Felasel closes his eyes because he doesn’t like that snap-burn it has. It’s not like Mama’s. Even though Grandpapae’s never been mean to them, Felasel thinks he  _could_  be. And he thinks that would be very scary.

“Are you frightened of me?” Grandpapae asks. “You don’t have to be. I know it was scary, what happened. Andruil did a very terrible thing, and I am furious with her about it. But I would never hurt you two. You’re my precious little grandsons.”

Felasel keeps his eyes shut, and hides against his brother.

“Okay,” Darevas says. “Got it. You should go now, though, we’re on the clock.”

Grandpapae doesn’t leave, even though that’s true. He keeps frowning, and making sad faces, and tries to offer them cookies.

They don’t eat them.

Felasel thinks they could be poisoned, and Darevas agrees, and Grandpapae’s aura goes crackle-snap and Felasel just wishes he would  _leave._  He wants Mama and Papae and home, with his weighted blanket and his quiet room, not the wood-polish scent underneath the office desk that feels so far away from everything safe right now.

Grandpapae is eating a cookie to show them it’s not poisoned when the door to the office opens again, and they hear Mama shouting.

Darevas lets out a relieved breath.

“-never getting any business from  _any_  of us again, that’s for damn sure!” Mama snaps, and then they hear the  _thump-thump_  of her own steps. Felasel wants to run to her, but Grandpapae is still in the way.

“Elgar’nan, you have ten seconds to get out before I throw you out.”

Mama sounds  _mad._

“Calm down, Selene, I was just-“

“Okay, you know what? I take it back. You can stay here as long as you like.  _We’re_  leaving.”

Felasel blinks open his eyes in time to see Mama  _lift_  Grandpapae almost clean off the floor, and shove him back, and then she’s there. She’s there and Felasel and Darevas surge forward, scrambling out of their cramped hiding place and into her arms. She scoops them both up, one in each arm, and starts carrying them out of the room. Felasel leans into the crook of her neck and closes his eyes again.

“Selene, wait!” Grandpapae calls. “I’m sorry for what Andruil did.”

Mama’s steps falter.

She lets out a long, heavy breath.

“You’re sorry, so you figured the appropriate response was to hijack my sons’  _therapy session?”_  she snaps.  

“You wouldn’t let me see them!” Grandpapae replies.

“No, I wouldn’t! And Dirthamen wouldn’t!” Mama snarls. She gets warmer, and her grip on them tightens a little. “But I’m not going to list the number of reasons why I’m not letting you near them right now, because  _right now,_  my sons are scared, so I’m going to take them home. I’m going to prove to them that their father is okay, and I’m going to comfort them because  _you_  decided it would be a good idea to barge in here and make all of this about  _your_  feelings.”

Mama is shaking a little, and she gets even warmer. But her voice is very steady, as she starts walking again.

Grandpapae calls after them, but she doesn’t stop a second time.

She does just what she said she would, instead, and takes them home. Home where it’s quiet, and where everything’s been extra warded to be safe. They skype with Papae, and then Mama makes both of their favourites for lunch, and sits and watches cartoons with them. Darevas curls in her lap and Felasel leans on her side, and she says they did the right thing to call.

“I’m sorry you got scared,” she says. “Grandpapae was just being selfish.”

“I think he was trying to poison us,” Felasel whispers. “He had cookies, and he kept trying to get us to eat them.”

“He ate one, too, though,” Darevas reminds him.

“I don’t think he was trying to poison you,” Mama says. “But it’s good that you didn’t eat food you thought was suspicious.”

“Do you think he murdered Doctor Idhal?” Darevas wonders.

“Doctor Idhal is fine,” Mama assures them. “She was a little bit more susceptible to bribes than you two. I don’t think she was a good fit for you, in the end. We can find someone more reliable to talk to. That office was kind of stuffy, wasn’t it?”

Darevas agrees. Felasel is glad Doctor Idhal’s okay. He lets out another breath, but on the whole he almost feels… better. Grandpapae being loud and making Mama angry isn’t that unusual. Nobody got hurt, and nobody even  _tried_  to hurt anybody, either. It was almost okay, Felasel thinks.

And Mama’s still very cozy warm.

They sit with one another a while longer, watching another episode of their favourite show. Everything feels like it’s settling again; like maybe there’ll be scary things, sometimes, but it’ll be the  _normal_  kind of scary, not the dangerous kind where there are hospitals and emergencies and houses burning down.

“Can we have pizza for dinner?” he asks.

Mama smiles at him, and brushes a hand over his head.

“I think we can swing that,” she agrees.

Darevas cheers.


	32. Perks

The twins have been dropped off for a semi-impromptu sleepover with Kel. Uthvir had given Selene a knowing _look_  when she brought up the request at dinner the night before, but she supposes the nice thing about Fear is that they are unlikely to push things in public.

Regardless, Selene and Dirthamen now have the entire house to themselves, and neither of them has to work tomorrow. She doesn’t bother pretending they’re going to do much else when they get back home, taking Dirthamens hand and leading him past the kitchen and entertainment center, directly into the bedroom.

 

She immediately removes her shirt and bra, kicking off her heels and turning back to him in nothing but a tight pair of jeans.

 

Selene might be a bit eager, but she had prepped for tonight, after all.

 

Dirthamen is still removing his tie when she takes him by the collar and leads him onto the bed. He falls back onto it, kicking off his own shoes and socks while she begins unbuttoning his shirt.

With a single finger pressed to his chest, she pushes him down flat on the bed, kissing a trail from his neck down to the waist band of his pants.

Dirthamen moans at the attention, cupping the side of her face gently to make eye contact “Would you like me to get anything from the closet?”

“Hm,” Selene says as she crawls her way up his body “Perhaps we could try something a bit new tonight, instead?”

 

His eyebrow goes up as his torso leans back against the headboard “What did you have in mind?”

She grasps one of his hands in hers and slides it down her bare stomach, to the rapidly growing bulge pressing against her fly. Dirthamens eyes shoot down, immediately. “Is that yours?”  
  
“Ours, technically,” she smirks. “Apparently there are ‘perks’ to sharing a body with a Desire Demon, including enhanced shape shifting. Who knew?”

 

He swallows and nods, eyes still glued to where she is holding his hand. She leans forward, pressing a careful kiss to his lips. “We don’t have to though, if you’re not comfortable with it. I won’t be offended if you’d rather stick with the toys, or do something else entirely.”

 

“No!” he immediately retorts. Selene blinks, taken aback by his own apparent eagerness, before her face softens into a smile. He swallows again, before he flips open the button on her jeans and pulls down on the zipper, then glances up at her. “May I?”

“Far be it from me to deprive you of anything,” she teases, standing to step out of her jeans. She thinks she might have felt awkward like this once. Naked and exposed and with a fully erect penis jutting out of her. But Dirthamen is looking at her like he’s falling in love all over again, and she can almost feel his  _want_  pouring out of him. He reaches out, trailing a soft finger carefully up the length of it and watching for her reactions.

It’s  _searing_ , her heartbeat is already starting to increase. But he crawls closer to her, fist wrapping fully around her and giving a solid pump that sends a shock straight down her spine. She licks her lips, and oh,  _there’s_  an idea.

But he seems to be one step ahead of her, bending to all fours on the edge of the bed and taking her into his mouth.

Oh, so  _this_  is what all the fuss is about.

 

It takes more willpower than she expected not to immediately come into his mouth.

 

Instead she focuses on trailing a nail slowly up the line of his jaw, and lets out an appreciative moan when her hand fists loosely into his hair.

His eyes close as he settles into a rhythm, tongue swirling around her shaft each time he pulls back. She is bent almost entirely over him now, one hand still on the back of his head as she tries not to thrust deeper into his mouth. It’s embarrassing, really, but she doesn’t think they’ll be able to hold out much longer.

“Dirthamen…I’m close.” she groans. His eyes open as he tilts his head slightly to make eye contact with her, and that is enough to undo her entirely. She comes in his mouth and moaning his name while one of his hands grips her ass and pulls her closer.

Panting, she releases her own grip on his head and pulls herself out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, sitting down on the bed beside him before her knees can give out. He wipes at the small amount of come dripping out of the corner of his mouth, and Selene is fairly certain she won’t be forgetting that image for a very long time.

“If I had been against it, I would have released you,” he reassures her. “You taste the same, if it is any consolation.”

 

She laughs, and kisses his cheek. “Well. Thank you, then. Where did you learn to-? I mean, obviously you don’t have to tell me, you’re a grown man and all, but. You know. Where did  _you_  learn to give a blow-job?”

“From you, of course.” he answers plainly.

 

Selene lets out a snort, and glances down to Dirthamens own situation, currently tenting the front of his pants.

“Mm-hm. Well,” her fingers smoothly undo his pants while she whispers into his ear “Shall we see what else I can do?”

 

A quiet gasp escapes him as she releases his own member from his underwear, and runs her nail up the underside. He nods, and quickly divulges himself of the rest of his clothing while she retrieves the necessary items from the bedside drawer.

She hums quietly under her breath, warming up a bit of lubrication between her fingers before turning back to him. He is bent over, face down on the pillows and already flushed. She continues humming, running the nails on her still clean hand down his back and savoring the gasp he lets out as he arches into her touch.

“As much as I appreciate the view,” she purrs “I think I’d like to watch your face tonight, if that’s alright.”

 

He flips over immediately, and she smiles down at him. Selene moves between his legs, already erect again and nuzzles her face into the side of his neck, trailing light kisses. She thrusts the first finger into him while simultaneously biting down on the crook, and he lets out a loud moan as she waits for him to adjust around her finger. His own erection is pressed between their stomachs, and she moves slowly against him while she sucks a mark into his neck and moves her finger in tandem. She pulls up once she’s satisfied with the color of the hickey, pressing a gentle kiss to it while she adds more lubrication to her hand, and a second finger. Her other hand drifts up his leg, and she watches as the goosebumps rise on his skin with a smile. There is a sharp inhale from him when her fingers crook to rub against one of their favorite spots.

“Need me to stop?” she drawls.

 

He shakes his head, chest rising and falling as she adds a third finger with an approving hum. His cock is leaking now, and she thinks hers might be as well. Experimentally, she gives herself a few strokes with the hand not in use and lets out a quiet gasp. Dirthamens eyes lock onto her, gaze hooded, and oh, that aura is  _delicious._

They’ll have to make a real show of it, next time.

 

For now though, her own desires have risen too high to hold back much longer. She pulls her hand out of him with a lewd pop, and swiftly rolls on a condom. Running her thumb carefully over the slightly swollen, but relaxed hole, she makes eye contact as she lines herself up. She tilts her head for affirmation one last time, and he gives a very eager nod and a quiet whimper before she begins to push in.

It’s a strange sensation.

She’s been in this position before of course, and his, but toys aren’t quite the same intensity as flesh. It is very warm, and tight, and weirdly comfortable. She pushes, slowly, carefully, until she is fully hilted inside of him. Leans her forehead against his and makes eye contact. He smiles reassuringly and tilts his head up for a kiss, which she’s more than happy to give him.

Then he shifts his hips, and she curses. She doesn’t know if it’s aloud or in her head, but it sends sparks through her, around her, and she’s worried she may come again already.

He smirks into the kiss.

_Oh._

_Oh it is **on.**_

Selene lifts her head, readjusting so that she is sitting up while he is still lying down, and pulls almost entirely out.

Then thrusts fully forward in one go.

Dirthamen gasps and arches almost entirely off of the bed.

 

“Are you alright?” She checks.

He nods, and she notes the fresh beads of come on his stomach, dripping from his own cock still.

Selene smirks, this time.

“Good,” she teases, before doing it again. She eases up after, still nervous about  _actually_  hurting him, but settles into a rough pace. Her finger traces light glyphs over his stomach, nothing dangerous, just a few Des informs her will make his experience more intense without pushing him over.

It certainly seems to be working, if the noises coming out of him are any indication.

She can feel her own stamina winding down though, a tension in the pit of her stomach, and runs her finger through the small pool that’s formed on him, following it up to his tip. She makes a show of sucking it off of her finger when his eyes peek open.

“Please…Selene, please…” he pants.

She smiles, both of her hands moving underneath him.

“How can I refuse a face like that?” she purrs, lifting him off the bed. Selene holds him tightly against her, his cock pressed between them to give him enough friction that they manage to achieve orgasm together.

 

He leans against her, spent and sticky and trying to catch his breath while she attempts the same. She presses her lips to his forehead, his cheek, his jaw, his lips, before laying him back down on the bed and moving to retrieve a few damp washcloths from the bathroom.

He’s quite a sight, panting and covered in sex lying on their bed.

She’ll have to do this more often.

She does, however reluctantly, hand him the washcloth before anything can become uncomfortable though, and shifts back to her usual form.

Laying down next to him, head propped up on her hand and grinning like a satisfied cat, she asks “Was it good for you?”

 

He opens one eye, then the other. Before she can fully register then, both of his arms are around her and holding her tightly to him. He nuzzles his face into the back of her head and lets out a heavy sigh.

“I love you, Selene.”

She smiles, and relaxes into his hold.

“I love you, too.”


	33. Andruil did WHAT?

Selene blinks at the tabloid Melanadahl is reading while his current experiment runs. That can’t be right, she thinks. No one would let  _her_ raise a child.

“Can I see that?” she asks. He hands it over, and takes out his phone instead, undoubtedly texting Mahvir.

Selene flips to the article indicated on the cover;  _“Evanuris Heiress Adopts Daughter”_.

There’s photos.

Normally Selene wouldn’t put any weight on some tabloid piece claiming anything about the family, but. There’s a photo. Right there. Of Andruil and Ghilan'nain with a young girl, around 7 years of age.

She calls Dirthamen.

 

“Selene, is everything alright?”

“Did you know you’re an Uncle?” she blurts.

He is silent for a moment, waiting for her to continue.

“Andruil has a daughter, did you know?” she sighs.

“Ah. Yes, I have known about Adaia for some time now. We send her presents for her birthday, and the major holidays. I am not sure if she actually gets them, however.”

Selene looks down at the name in the article.

“This says her name is Eloren. And that she was just adopted? How long has this been a thing?”

There is silence again, before she can hear Dirthamen typing quickly on his end.

“Oh,” he says after a moment. “Well. This would explain why Elgar'nan has suddenly stopped harassing us about visiting with the twins.”

 

“Are you telling me Andruil has  _two_  children now?” Selene asks. Des is riling inside her. That woman should not be around children.

She debates calling Serahlin to see if she could sue for custody.

She is fairly certain the answer would be No.

 

“It appears so,” Dirthamen asserts.

Selene drums her nails against the table.

First Mythal adopts Pride, and now this.

She supposes this might be a good thing. Less of a chance that Elgar'nan or Mythal will insist the twins be brought into their family business, if there are other options.

She glances back at the young girl in the photo, and feels a stab of guilt.

Whether it’s because she  _almost_  killed her new mothers, or because she  _didn’t_ kill her new mothers, she isn’t entirely sure.

She supposes she will just have to hope the new child is kinder than her mothers. For everyone’s sake.


	34. Mythal's Babies

Mythal remembers watching her sons, as they slept in their crib. Newly born and inseparable; they wouldn’t settle down if they couldn’t feel each other close by, not after so many months of sharing the closed living space inside of her.

She remembers thinking them unevenly matched. Falon’Din had been the bigger of the two, with wisps of fair hair already on his head, legs kicking in an effort to escape his footie pyjamas. Whereas Dirthamen had been smaller, and still bald, and prone to doing little more than napping and crying. They had hardly  _looked_  like twins, she had thought.

That part had come later, when they were a bit older. When Dirthamen’s dark hair grew in, and they both turned into chubby toddlers. She remembers worrying over everything. Did they weigh enough? Did they weigh  _too much?_  Was the classical music piped into the nursery helping their brains develop, or was it keeping them from falling into deep sleep and actually doing the opposite? 

She remembers being pregnant with Andruil, and watching Dirthamen building block castles; watching Falon’Din knock them down. Giggling, hyper.  _Too much energy?_  But then his brother would do things like stare off at walls, or rock himself, or hide in wardrobes, and she would think to herself that Falon’Din was just typically rambunctious. It was Dirthamen who was strange. Dirthamen who go overwhelmed; who needed a firm hand to get him to do anything other than play with his blocks.

She remembers all the books she had read. Parenting. Early warning signs. Discipline. Moulding your young children into becoming productive, capable adults. Remembers pregnancy books.  _Every bite counts, every move matters._  Elgar’nan’s hands on her stomach as he placed headphones around it, and kissed the swell of their next baby’s home.

_I hope it’s twins again,_  he had whispered.

_It won’t be,_  she had assured him. They had seen the ultrasounds already. But still, he had hoped, and she had sighed, and sometimes she thought him a far better parent than she was. And sometimes she thought him much worse; much too indulgent, much too shortsighted. Always buying the twins toys, always giving in to tantrums; letting Dirthamen hide in his pillow forts, letting Falon’Din eat too much candy.

_They will not be little forever._

She remembers it all, when Falon’Din dies. When Andruil tries to kill Dirthamen. When Sylaise informs her that she is no longer welcome to speak to Shae and Caio; when Dirthamen`s own twins stop calling her `grandmother`.

She does not know where she went wrong.

But she is perceptive enough to know that somewhere, she did.


	35. Scary Sleepover

Kel wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of sniffling.

She rolls over inside the latest iteration of Fort Skyhold – a mess of pillows and blankets that Papae had helped her and Ileth set up the night before – and blinks sleepily at her cousin. Ileth is currently little more than a tuft of pale hair and a lump in the middle of the blankets. They’d both been really excited for this sleepover, their first since kindergarten started. Isabela is over at the twins’ for a  _whole weekend_ , so Kel had asked her parents if Ileth could come over and they’d said ‘yes’ and it had been a lot of fun, watching movies and eating snacks and playing dumb games. Normally when Kel has sleepovers it’s at someone else’s house.

But now Ileth’s crying.

“What’s the matter?” Kel asks, whispering. She checks the nightlight, but it’s still on and everything. Kel had pretended the light was mostly for Ileth’s benefit, because sometimes he gets nervous about things, but actually Nanae usually leaves it on for her. Sometimes she wakes up at night and the shadows in her room look scary – but when that happens, Nanae almost always comes and checks on her.

Ileth sniffles a bit.

“Nothing,” he says, mumbling into the blankets. It doesn’t really come out like ‘nothing’, it sounds more like ‘nubbin’, but she knows what he means anyway.

Kel thinks. Sometimes, she knows, people cry just because they need to cry. But usually there’s a reason.

“Are you homesick?” she asks. She gets homesick sometimes. Isabela’s last birthday was a sleepover, and Papae ended up coming and getting her early because she couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t cried, though.

Ileth sniffs again, and shakes his head. But then he moves around, and he nods instead. Kel pats his shoulder, and climbs up out of the fort.

“I’ll go get my parents,” she tells him.

“No!” he protests, hiccoughing a little. “Don’ wake ‘em up, Kels, grownups need  _sleep.”_

Kel pats his shoulder again.

“It’s okay,” she assures him. “Nanae’s probably awake anyway.”

Ileth keeps on protesting, though, at least for a little while. And when she finally gets him to let her go, he decides he’s going to come with her. They hold hands, because it’s dark and that’s what you do when it’s dark and you don’t want to lose track of anyone. Ileth’s fingers are a little sweaty. Or maybe damp from tears. Kel tugs him out into the hall, and they don’t get very far at all before Nanae is there.

Nanae usually knows when stuff’s gone wrong.

“Hey, kids,” Nanae says, quietly. They reach over and gently shut the door to the big bedroom, probably so they don’t wake Papae up. Ileth sniffs and scrubs at his eyes, and Nanae kneels down and pats his head.

“M’sorry, U-Bear,” Ileth mumbles.

“What are you sorry for? I was just coming to check on you,” Uthvir says. “Your Memae just called, she was wondering if you wanted to stay the whole night, or maybe come home early? The dogs were wondering where you’d gotten to.”

Ileth blinks, and then sniffs a few times.

“I norm’ly sleep wiff Flower,” he says.

Nanae nods, understandingly, and says that maybe next time Flower can come over, too. Then they take Ileth into the bathroom to help him clean up, because he’s kind of all snotty. Kel goes back to the fort, and Nanae helps Ileth put on his outside clothes again, and tucks her back into bed. She hears as Nanae goes into the big bedroom, and tells Ileth to wait right there a minute while they explain to Papae where they’re going.

And then she listens as they head out of the apartment. The front door clicks shut, and Kel settles back down with a sigh. It’s kind of sad that they didn’t make it the whole night, but at least they got to have fun before. Her eyelids start to droop, and she begins to fall back to sleep, when suddenly the room goes completely dark.

There’s a little  _plink_  sound from the nightlight, and the bulb winks out.

Kel blinks her eyes open at the sudden change. Her bedroom blinds are closed, and everything seems very, very dark, all at once. So dark that the only things she can really see are the pale outlines of the top sheet that she and Ileth used to build Fort Skyhold; and those just make everything else look that much more shadowy and weird by comparison.

It’d be silly to get scared, Kel supposes.

She knows what that shape is. It’s the fort. And there’s nothing in her room. Nanae was just there, and they wouldn’t have left her alone with monsters in it.

Unless the monsters were waiting for Nanae to go.

Unless they scared Ileth on purpose and made him cry and want to go home, because they knew that then Nanae would take him, and then Nanae wouldn’t be there to come and check on Kel and keep them away.

Kel lifts her blanket a little higher.

Nanae won’t be gone long, though. They’ll come right back, so as long as she stays very still, and doesn’t move, then maybe the monsters will think she’s gone with them and won’t find her. Maybe they’ll think she’s just another lump of blankets. She holds her breath for a little bit, but the dark silence of the room doesn’t seem to get any better.

Is her closet door open?

…Didn’t Nanae close it before they left?

They always close it.

Kel stares at the long, dark shadow there as some of the dark gets a little easier to see by, and the longer she stares, the more certain she becomes that something’s staring back.

She sucks in another breath, and then hears something go  _creak,_  and she gives up. She bolts out of the bed, and dashes over to the door, and out into the hall. Racing her way down it until she gets into the big bedroom, and climbs into the big bed, and hides under the blankets.

Papae makes a sound, and rolls over.

“Kel?” he asks.

“Papae,” she whispers. “Something’s in my closet.”

Papae rubs a hand down her back, and she moves closer.

“It’s okay, da’vhenan, I’m sure it’s nothing dangerous,” he says. “Want to go check?”

Kel shakes her head, and grabs his shirt. No.

“We should wait for Nanae,” she says. Nanae’s the one who deals good with scary shadows. Papae could probably fight a monster, she thinks, but monsters aren’t scared of him or anything. And what if he fought a monster and got hurt? Nanae’s still not back, that would be a disaster. Kel knows where the bandaids are but she can’t do spells or anything, and neither can Papae.

Papae sighs.

“Okay,” he says. “You just stay with me in the meantime, then.”

He fluffs up one of Nanae’s pillows and makes her scoot up on the bed, and brushes her forehead, and Kel supposes the monsters wouldn’t be dumb enough to come in here – this is Nanae’s room, too, after all. It’s safe for the two of them. Her eyelids droop shut, and Papae hums at her a little, and eventually she drifts off.

She wakes up a little bit not long after, she thinks she remembers, but then she hears Nanae telling her to go back to sleep. So she does; moving into the middle of the bed, warm and cozy, not even quite sure anymore why she’s there with her parents, and not particularly caring.

When she wakes up in the morning, Papae is snoring. And Nanae is lying next to her, already awake and looking at her.

They smile at her.

Kel feels a rush of embarrassment. She climbed into her parents’ bed, she hasn’t done that since before kindergarten started. That’s what  _little_  kids do. There probably wasn’t even anything in her closet, she thinks, now that the morning light is streaming in through the windows. She was being silly. Darevas would have poked fun if he’d been there. Isabela, too, maybe.

Nanae doesn’t say anything about it, though. They just sigh their happy sigh, and wrap an arm around her, and then grin when Papae snores a little too loud and makes a funny sound. Kel smiles, too, then, and lets out a sigh of her own.

It’s probably okay if she forgets to be a big kid, sometimes.

Just so long as only her parents know about it.


	36. Tonlen's New Boots

Uthvir is working on a tiny pair of boots when they hear the door to their study creak open.

There is a distinct lack of any shadow tall enough to block the light, so it’s not Thenvunin, and probably not Kel, either. Little feet patter over as they finish getting the sole inserts in place, and they are not surprised when they look up to a see a small face peering at them from the edge of the desk. Sparkly painted nails, ties in his hair, and what looks to be one of Thenvunin’s jackets acting the part of a veritable robe on their little guest’s form. It seems ‘dress up’ has proven a fruitful game.

“What’re you doing, Nabae?” Tonlen asks.

“I’m modifying a pair of Kel’s old boots for Rissa,” they explain, holding up the pair in question. “They’re the right size for her after her growth spurt, but Rissa’s calves are skinnier than Kel’s were.”

Tonlen’s eyes widen a bit, and he scoots his way around the desk.

“You’re fixing them?” he asks.

“Sort of,” Uthvir confirms. As Tonlen tries to see better, they set the pair down for a moment, and reach over. Plucking him up and placing him onto a clear patch of desk, before they pick the project back up, and begin showing him. The boots are close-toed, meant to keep out the damp during rainy seasons, and pale blue. Last week Ana mentioned Rissa shooting up out of her old pair, and Uthvir suddenly remembered when Kel had outgrown these ones. They’d replaced them with a green set, which lasted her a good long while, in fact.

Tonlen runs a finger over the star-patterned fabric on the interior of the calves.

“Rissa likes stars,” he notes.

“Mmhmm. I added them for her,” Uthvir confirms. “The interior was a little worn anyway. It used to be dinosaurs.” They also had to replace the heels, but on the whole the pair was in very good condition; and now they’re as nice as new.

Tonlen nods in understanding, looking very intent.

“You can make shoes?” he asks, a little bit breathlessly. Uthvir keeps an ear on his lungs as they nod, not sure if the incredulity is for the concept of themselves making such things, or the concept of anyone doing it. How much does Tonlen know about product manufacturing and crafting?

“I can make shoes. And other things as well,” they confirm, anyway.

“Can you make me some?” Tonlen wonders. “Memae took me shopping for boots but the pretty ones I wanted pinched an’ she said we could do better, but we didn’t go to the other shops because I needed my puffer but I still got a bracelet, except I forgot it at home. I like these!” So declaring, Tonlen points at one of the boots and nods.

Uthvir smiles.

“Thank you,” they say. They’ve nearly finished the modifications. Much simpler than making a new set from scratch – which is why they started with the boots for Tonlen, which are currently sitting in the bottom of their own closet, wrapped up and ready to be given to Adannar when he comes to retrieve his son. Not that they’re a secret, necessarily, but Uthvir had thought it best to leave it to Adannar and Serahlin on when and how they wanted to give Tonlen such things.

But, Uthvir doubts they would mind a slight deviation in plans, all things considered.

“I already finished your boots,” they declare. “I had to make yours from scratch.” They had contemplated using an old pair of Ileth’s, but Serahlin tended to get sentimentally attached to these things, and anyway it was nice to have fresh projects now and again.

Tonlen blinks.

“ _What?!”_  he asks, throwing up his hands. “What? No one told me about this!”

Uthvir snickers at the sudden theatrics.

“Should I fetch them?” they wonder. “I suppose we should make certain they meet with your approval. There’s still time for some modifications, if you don’t like anything.”

Tonlen wriggles right back down off the desk, practically vibrating in excitement, now.

“I wanna see!” he agrees. “Nobody told me you  _made important stuff,_  Nabae! This is  _unacceptable!_  I wasn’  _informed!”_

Uthvir has to fight to keep from laughing outright, not wanting to seem like they are belittling the boy. They manage to incline their head apologetically instead, and take his hand – straightening one of the clips in his hair as they dutifully set out for the bedroom, and Uthvir’s closet. Thenvunin still has the girls, by the sounds of it, watching television and debating the merits of various super powers. Uthvir reminds themselves that it’s their turn to check Kel’s homework, later, as they get Tonlen settled onto the little fainting couch, and retrieve their offerings for him.

The boots are butter yellow, and very soft, with indented pattering on the cuffs and decorative flower-shaped buttons up the sides. Tonlen takes them carefully, and peers at them with his expression very intent, as he traces his fingers over the buttons and examines the interior fabric, and purses his lips before he stands up. Then he sets aside Thenvunin’s coat, and then undoes the footwraps he’s wearing and determinedly pulls the boots on. Uthvir doesn’t even have to help him. He gets them on in very short order, and immediately sets about attempting various walks in front of the room’s full-sized mirror.

Uthvir folds their arms, watching him go until he finally stops. Then Tonlen at his reflection, with his eyebrows narrowed, and folds his own arms in turn.

“These are the most fantastic boots I have ever owned in my whole entire life,” he finally declares.

Uthvir has to move their hand to their mouth to keep from laughing again. All five years of it, then. But still, they know high praise when they hear it.

“I’m honoured,” they say.

Tonlen is still wearing his very determined expression, though, when he turns and looks at them.

“I want lessons!” he declares.

They blink.

Lessons?

“You… want to learn how to make your own boots?” they guess.

It earns them a very resolute little nod.

“Nobody told me about this!” he repeats, stomping a well-dressed foot. Obviously still stuck on the fact that apparently he’s been living in the presence of a cobbler without being ‘informed’ _._  Uthvir considers the matter, and then shrugs. Their schedule is pretty full, but some beginners lessons wouldn’t be too hard to squeeze in. They can start small, and Tonlen can sit in on a few of their bigger projects, they suppose.

“Alright. I’ll talk with your parents about it,” they agree.

Tonlen nods again, glancing at his reflection once more, before he  _launches_  himself at Uthvir’s calves. They blink as they are subjected to a tiny person’s version of a bear hug, and reach down, patting the top of their nephew’s head before they give in and just scoop him up. The heels of his new boots make a crisp little  _clack-clack_  sound as they bounce together, and he must like it, because he wriggles his legs and repeats it a few times before they get him settled in their grasp.

Then they are rewarded for their efforts with a very sweet kiss to the cheek.

“Shall we finish Rissa’s?” they suggest. “Then you can both head home in new boots.”

Tonlen grins, and claps, bouncing a bit in their arms.

“Yes!” he eagerly agrees.


	37. Vinegar

“It wasn’t my fault! He said we didn’t have a ‘real family’ just cause we don’t look like you!” Darevas argues, while Selene dabs an alcohol soaked cotton ball over the scrape on his knee.

She lets out a sigh, while Felasel sits beside his brother, legs swinging off the edge of the counter top while he holds a bag of frozen peas over his newly blackened eye.

“Do you think we’re not a family, just because we don’t look the same? Do you think Kel isn’t really Uthvir and Thenvunin’s daughter just because she looks differently than they do? What about Isabella and her parents?”

“Well, no, of course not. He was wrong, that’s why I punched him!”

“Punching people isn’t going to change their mind,” Selene lectures “You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar you know.”

“Yeah, but you’ll catch even more with bullshit.” Felasel mumbles.

 

Selenes head snaps towards him.

“Where did you learn that word?”

The twins exchange one of their patented  _looks_ , and stay silent, while Dirthamen wanders out of the house office.

 

“Answer your mother,” he says, stepping before the twins and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

There is silence for several moments.

 

Darevas cracks first.

 

“The others say it too!” he insists “Kel learned it from Glory, and we just picked it up, that’s all.”

“You two do insist that we constantly expand our vocabulary and add new words to our repertoires.” Felasel adds.

 

Dirthamen and Selene frown, and look at each other. Dirthamen wanders back into the office for a moment, and returns with two dictionaries while Selene retrieves two stacks of paper and a pile of pencils.

 

“Very well,” Dirthamen says, handing a dictionary to each of the twins. “Pick 50 words you do not already know, and write them and their definition down. When you are finished with that, you will use no less than 5 of those words in an essay about the dangers of peer pressure. Your mother and I will proofread them when you are finished.”

The twins let out a unanimous groan while Selene sends a quick text to Thenvunin, so that he won’t be caught off guard by his daughters newest vocabulary lesson.

 

~

 

“ _Kelvallastheneras!”_  Papae snaps.

Uh oh.

Full name.

Kel does a quick mental review of the last little while. What did she do today? Woke up, went to school, had dance lessons, asked Nanae if she could take kickboxing, went to the big house and played with the birds… did her homework…

She blinks as Papae comes into the room, and folds his arms.

“…I don’t know what I did,” she admits, as he gives her a  _look._

“Have you been teaching your cousins foul language?” Papae asks.

Oh.

_That._

That was  _ages_  ago, though. Kel opens her mouth, and closes it again; probably mentioning that won’t help make it better.

“Who ratted me out?” she asks, instead. Which… maybe isn’t an improvement, either. Nanae turns their head a little bit to the side, but she catches a hint of a grin on them.

Papae looks unimpressed.

“You know better than to use bad words,” he says. “I can’t believe this! It would be bad enough if you went around saying them, but to  _teach them to your cousins?”_

“Oh, I don’t say them, Papae,” Kel assures him. “I wrote them down. I’m not rude.”

Papae blinks, and frowns, and opens his mouth. And then he closes it again. He fixes her with a  _look_  once more, while Nanae’s shoulders tremble, just a little.

“Writing them down is rude, too, Kel,” he tells her.

She frowns back at him.

“But then how’re people supposed to know what the rude words are?” she wonders.

“How do  _you_  know?” Papae counters.

“Usually because they’re the words that Bibi Glory blurts out sometimes, and then says ‘forget I said that’ afterwards. But I’m pretty bad at forgetting,” she allows. Nanae makes a sound, but when she looks over, they’re straight faced with their ‘listen to your papae’ expression on.

“ _Glory,”_  Papae says, huffing. “Well I will be having words with your bibi. But you’re still in trouble for teaching them to your cousins. Just what were you thinking? Why would you  _want_ them to know rude words?”

Kel shrugs.

“Isabela bet she knew more swears than anybody else, and Felasel said that  _he_  did because  _he_  knows more dictionary words, and I said that I bet I knew some that nobody else knew, so we swapped ‘em all,” she explains. “And it turns out I  _did_  know more. Felasel only knew four, and Isabela only knew five, and most of them were the same ones and they both only knew one elvhen swear.”

Papae stares at her.

“Kel. How many bad words do you know?” he asks.

“Ten,” Kel proudly informs him, before she remembers herself. “I mean… um.”

Papae looks a little faint.

After a few moments, Nanae reaches over and pats her shoulder.

“Don’t go repeating them,” they tell her. “That’s the rule with bad words. Even if you write them down, you’re still repeating them. Okay?”

She sighs.

“Okay, Nanae,” she agrees. “Am I in trouble?”

“A little, yeah,” they tell her.

“Nuts.”


	38. Felasel's Drawings

Felasel likes to draw.

Not  _especially,_  but it is a good activity. He likes the feel of crayons, but only after he has taken the wrappers off. Then the wax slides against his fingers, and the label’s paper never scratches against the page, which he  _hates._  He takes the labels off of his brother’s crayons, too, because Darevas doesn’t notice it as much, but whenever he hears that awful itching sound of paper against paper, it makes him feel horrible.

But otherwise, drawing is nice. The new therapist he and his brother go to talk with about their problems says it is a very good activity, and likes to look at Felasel’s drawings. When he gives her permission to.

Sometimes he does not give her permission, though. Felasel has secrets to keep, after all. Secrets about Mama, and her shadow, and some of the things he can see. But sometimes Felasel  _really_  wants to draw the things he can see. They want to be real, sometimes. Especially the ones that are still drifting, distant, at the edges of other people’s footsteps. Sometimes they tell Felasel, whispering how badly they want it and asking him to help.

Felasel can’t make deals with them, though. That would be bad. Everyone has been very clear on it.

But he wants to help, a little, too.

So he draws them.

Drawings are real. They exist in this part of the world. Sometimes, when he gets them  _just_ right, the tiny spirit-shades can go and sit in the pages, and stare out with the crayon-coloured eyes that he’s made for them. Only the little ones can. He thinks maybe his drawings are too simple for the bigger ones.

He wonders what kind of art could hold them. Maybe sculptures? Could someone sculpt bodies for them, or would it not be good enough because they can’t move? Or would it be alright, just to go and sit in the sculpture for a while, and see the world, and then go back to the dreams?

Maybe they could make the sculptures move, Felasel thinks.

Uncle Aelynthi sculpts things. So the next time he and Darevas are visiting with him and Uncle Victory, he asks to see how sculpting works. Uncle Aelynthi is happy to show him things. He makes a pot, which is very interesting – Felasel really likes how the clay feels against his palms, before it dries – but it’s not so simple. His own efforts come out lumpy and sad-looking, and nowhere near as complicated or fancy as a sculpture of a person.

He tries again at home, later on. He tries it with LEGO bricks, that time. Snapping blocks together, looking at the shadow that’s watching his Papa, who is doing some work in his study. Felasel tries to get the shape right, but it’s hard. There are too many limbs and too many eyes. He starts over many times, but his bricks are too blocky, and they cannot really match the rounded parts of the shape he can see. And then his model vanishes, going far from the shadows where Felasel glimpsed it, and he has to give up again.

In class, though, the teacher has them do a project with  _paper mache._  And that, Felasel thinks, is perfect. There needs to be a wire frame, but that’s easier than the LEGO bricks, and the gluey gunk of paper substance molds better in his tiny hands than the clay had. He finishes making his mask at school and brings it home, and Mama tells him it is beautiful, and Felasel asks if he can have more  _paper mache._

On the weekend, Mama gets it for him. And the wire frames, too. Darevas also gets some, but he didn’t pay as much attention in class, so Mama has to remind him of what to do more.

That’s fine, though.

Felasel already knows what he is doing, as he works again. Making the many limbs, and then casting over them. When Mama looks up she thinks it is a spider, and tells him not to make it too scary. And then the phone rings, and she has to go before he can correct her; but that’s alright. She can see it when it’s all finished, he thinks. As his brother’s volcano lists to the side, and he reinforces his pieces. Adding more and more to the shape, until Mama calls and says that they have a few more minutes, and then they need to leave their projects to dry and come wash their hands for dinner.

Felasel looks critically at his creation, and supposes it will do.

“That’s a weird spider,” Darevas tells him.

“It’s not a spider. It’s a dream-thing,” Felasel corrects.

“Oh,” his brother says.

“You should do another round on your volcano,” Felasel tells him. “Or it will be too thin.”

“Yeah. Nobody’s ever heard of a skinny volcano,” Darevas agrees.

Then they go and wash their hands. Mama makes mozzarella sticks with dinner, and Felasel stretches out the strings, and compares them to the gooey paper mache. Pondering the model he chose, and the whispery spirit he chose it for. What colours should he paint it? He doesn’t think this shape really  _has_  colours. Not like the fire-shadows and bright-glowing ones usually do, anyway. It’s more like Grandnanae Melarue’s swallowed masks, he thinks. Or like the Indominus Rex, from the Jurassic Park movie, that could  _camouflage._

He’s still thinking about it when there’s a noise in the craft room, and then Mama stiffens.

“Selene?” Papa asks.

She smiles at him.

“I just remembered something. Be right back. Stay here and finish your supper, boys,” she says, and then gets up from the table, and goes into the craft room.

She comes back a few minutes later. Kissing the top of his head, and Darevas’ head, and then Papa’s cheek, before she slides into her seat again.

When Darevas announces that he wasn’t to do more work on his volcano, Mama tells him he has to wait until tomorrow. And then she declares that the two of them still smell like paper mache, even though they washed their hands, so they need to have a bath. Papa does the dishes while Mama marches Felasel to the bathroom first. He and his brother are too big to share the tub, now.

She brushes a hand over his head.

“Felasel,” she says. “Did you make your sculpture look like a spirit on purpose?”

Felasel nods.

Mama frowns a little bit, and crouches down.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Spirits can be dangerous,” she tells him. He can see her flames, licking quietly away from her edges.

“I know,” Felasel says. “That’s why I thought I’d make its shape for it. So then it would not want anyone else’s.”

He wonders if he has gotten into trouble. He doesn’t think he broke a rule, though. Not like when he and Darevas break them on purpose, at least.

Mama chucks his chin, and then pulls him in for a tight, squeezing hug. Picking him up and kissing his cheek, and her warm shadow hugs him, too.

“That was very thoughtful,” she tells him. There is a tiny bit of an echo to her voice. Not quite saying the same words, but even so close, Felasel can’t really tell what it  _is_  saying. Only Mama can hear that, he thinks. “But unfortunately, it didn’t work. Your sculpture broke. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

He sighs.

“I can’t get it right,” he bemoans.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Mama tells him. “Most spirits are better off staying in dreams. And far away from my little ones.”

Felasel rests his head against her shoulder, and closes his eyes for a moment.

“Okay,” he agrees.

At least the drawings still work, sometimes.

Mama kisses him again, and then puts him back down so he can have his bath.


	39. Museum Day

Ana likes museums. Not everyone does, and especially not every kid finds them fascinating the way she does. Rissa is only a few months old, and she has been consistently worried that Isabela has been feeling neglected, so she sets up a day for a little trip along with a few of her daughters other cousins to tag along.

Tasallir makes them sandwiches for their outing and Victory volunteers to help chaperone. Ana drives them to their destination as the kids eat their snacks and play games. The museum itself isn’t large, but it features air carriers, submarines, fighter planes, space shuttles, and  _ships_.

Isabela begins bouncing in her car seat as they pull up into the parking lot because she can see the ships docked in the harbor. Ana parks the car and turns around to see them expectantly waiting to free themselves of the confines of their seat belts. Maibrit has already figured out how to get her off and Kel and Ileth are waiting patiently, while Isabela fidgets with her seatbelt impatiently.

“Okay, now. Don’t wander off and stay together,” Ana reminds them.

“Does everyone have their buddy?” Victory asks, and the kids nod. It really feels like an impromptu field trip, Ana thinks.

They get the kids out of their seats and Isabela all but starts to run for the museum entrance, but stops when she hears her mother call her back and obediently walks back to their little group.

Well, Ana thinks. At least she won’t be bored.

They buy their tickets and begin making their way through the exhibits. Maibrit seems right at home in the space shuttle and Isabela doesn’t seem like she wants to ever leave the large ships they find themselves in.

She runs across the upper decks and the lower decks, into and out of cabins as she excitedly says “I’m on a boat!”

She ends up dubbing herself captain of the ship, and makes Ileth her first mate.

Kel herself showing mild fascination toward the exhibits themselves. Ana doesn’t blame her, not every child would be as excited as Isabela is, or as fascinated Maibrit is.

Ana lays a hand on Kel’s head, mindful of the pompoms in her hair that she suspects Thenvunin is behind.

“Are you having fun?” she asks. Kel nods slightly. Ana lets out a breath and smiles.

“You like birds, right Kel?”

Kel nods.

“Screecher is nice, and he likes blueberries,” she tells her.

“Do you know how Screecher is able to fly?” Ana asks, and Kel takes a moment to think about it.

“Papa said it was because his bones are light, and the shape of his wings help him, and he flaps them to fly,” she explains. Ana hums. Thenvunin knows a great deal about birds, she knows. It’s nice to see him passing down his knowledge.

“Did you know elves invented airplanes by studying birds?” Ana tells her, and Kel’s brows raise. “It’s true, airplane wings are the same as bird wings. You can see it in the design.”

Kel tilts her head up to look at the large airplane wing on the wall next to her and Ana directs her toward a diagram comparing the two.

She reads the big words on the plaque for her, explaining how it all works.

As they are making their way to the exit, they pass the museum gift shop and they decide to buy souvenirs. Maibrit picks out some Star Trek merchandise, and Ileth picks out a stuffed animal for Tonlen. Isabela finds a novelty ship captains hat and Kel brings home a model air plane.

“Mamae, look!” Isabela calls. “I’m a ship captain with a big hat!”


	40. Beach Babies

Arlathan’s summers are sweltering, humid affairs that dominate the majority of the calendar. Six out of the twelve months are summer, and the other six still retain some lingering heat. Snow is a long lost concept for Serahlin as well as actual winter. The heat is initially incredibly overwhelming, feeling nigh inescapable. She spends the majority of her first summer in Arlathan indoors with the AC cranked up. But over time, she discovered new ways to beat the heat.

First, wear minimal to no clothing. If you can go without clothes, go without them - most people opt for underwear or swimsuits to wear, plus a thin wrap around their bodies to maintain some semblance of modesty, while some places in the summer have made clothes entirely optional.

Second, head to the local baths that become more like pools in the summer and laze about in the cool waters with other heat exhausted people.

Third, avoid physical contact when outside, and whatever you do, don’t wear leather.

Hair goes up, suntan lotion goes on, sunglasses come down, and then everyone packs into their air conditioned cars and head out to one of Arlathan’s lovely beaches. 

Serahlin is pregnant and the heat is slaying her. All she wants is to relax at the beach or in the pool, and seeing as all the pools in the city are crowded beyond anything she wants to do deal with, she calls around to see who has an open house for the beach. Through some thrifty connection working, she secures a house from the friend of a friend – another lawyer with his own private firm, but since he’s away in the Free Marches for the week visiting the in-laws, he needs someone to rent out his house. His very large house. 

She calls up Thenvunin, Aelynthi, Tasallir, and Selene offering the house that miraculously has seven bedrooms and a basement to put all their children in. The latter three agree readily, all eager for the break from the heat and work while Thenvunin wavers a bit. Uthvir is also pregnant, only about 15 weeks along, but she knows, she  _knows_  they’re feeling the heat too, but they have…reacted somewhat differently. She hasn’t seen them much and from the grapevine that is their children, it sounds like they’ve taken to sequestering themselves in the coolest parts of their house when not out at work or with Kel.  

It takes some convincing but she assures them that they can stay at the beach house if they’d like, and that they would be safe and cared for in the house. She has to give them an entire layout of the house and they have to double check the security system before okaying it.

She books the house and they tell the children at their Sunday dinner. Her ears ring for days after the triumphant cries.

On Monday, Serahlin and Tasallir head out to buy new bathing suits, only to realize that all of the children most likely need or want new bathing suits. They bring in Selene and Ana to help wrangle the children with shopping, knowing that their schedules are thankfully flexible due to it being summer break for Selene and Ana having no immediate commission work at the moment. Aelynthi surprises them halfway through the shopping extravaganza after finishing his latest commission. 

On Tuesday, Serahlin makes sure to buy all of the air mattresses they need, plus some sleeping bags. She calls Dirthamen and asks if he would mind bringing some of his board games to the beach for the nights. He agrees readily. 

Perfect, that gives them at least a night, maybe two, with built in entertainment.

On Wednesday she sends Uthvir some links for bathing suits she thinks they may like. They’re mostly one-pieces with very flattering and form disguising patterns and styles - all in either black or red, and one with stripes because those are elongating and very good at disguising. They express their gratitude in typical Uthvir fashion and then inquire if there are shorts that could accompany the striped one. She sends them another link. Then she tells them that there is a store in the city where they can try it on to make sure it fits. But they decline the offer, opting to order a couple sizes online instead. 

Planning a vacation is difficult, planning a vacation for  _nineteen_ people is a puzzle not even Serahlin relishes. It’s amazing to see how interconnected they all are and how much she can actually balance on her spreadsheets and diagrams. She assigns rooms, driving arrangements, who’s bringing what, what they’re going to do when, where are the best places to eat – it’s exhausting. But she gets it done, filing everything into a binder.

The week flies by and soon it’s Sunday again and everyone is piling into the three minivans and the one SUV. Victory and Aelynthi argue if Victory should take the motorcycle or not, finally deciding on not to bring it much to Victory’s disappointment. Serahlin hands him a flier on scooter rentals but the tall man just looks at her and then at the scooters and laughs, walking away and shaking his head. Right. Scooters are small.

She makes a note to look for motorcycle rentals for him.

Thenvunin insists on driving the minivan with Uthvir and Kel in it and Serahlin has the distinct impression that he will be using the slow lane  _the entire time_. Which is fine, Adannar insists on driving the other minivan with Serahlin and their sons in it. Olwyn wants to sit with Kel and then Isablea wants to sit with the girls as well. Rissa wants to sit with Tonlen, which leads to Ana, Vena, and Tasallir figuring out who is going to go with Rissa. Tasallir volunteers since there is only room for one person to sit comfortably with her. Ana sets up to drive the third minivan with Vena, Dirthamen, Selene, Felasel, and Darevas. The twins bemoan having to be in the “not fun” car with all the adults, but then Dirthamen hands them their tablets and they fall silent as they begin to play various games on them. 

Victory is driving what everyone affectionately calls the luggage wagon. Aelynthi joins him in the front seat after making sure Olwyn is safe and secure in Thenvunin’s minivan. 

By 9AM, they’re off on the road, barreling towards the beach. It takes three and a half hours because of traffic but eventually get to the house…which is right on the beach. Perfect. Serahlin exits her vehicle with a happy sigh, stretching her awkward form. The children burst forth from the car and immediately make way to the house, wanting to check it out. Serahlin opens the house for them and they tear through it. A chuckle leaves her when she hears a loud triumphant cry as they discover the pool. Oh yes, she knows how to score a good place, she’s a scheduling  _master_.  

The adults who are not pregnant set to bringing everything inside while Uthvir and Serahlin keep an eye on the children. Uthvir seems slightly perturbed at being shooed away from lifting their own suitcase, but Thenvunin insists on them not straining anything. Serahlin’s used to this by now, but Uthvir is new to this whole husband becoming exceptionally protective and mindful when you’re pregnant thing.

Forty minutes later and all of the children are complaining of hunger and quite frankly Serahlin is a bit ravenous herself. Uthvir pulls out their phone and googles restaurants within walking distance, finding a sandwich place just a few blocks over. 

Serahlin, Uthvir, Tasallir, Kel, and Olwyn set out for the food, gathering up orders while everyone else continues to either run through the house or help set up the rooms. 

Thank the Creators there’s a sidewalk, she was no looking forward to walking the entire way through hot sand. Her baby moves, pressing out against her belly and she pats what she guesses is a foot.

Serahlin feels Uthvir’s eyes draw to her stomach more than once, lingering just a bit on her more dramatic curve. She runs a hand over her belly affectionately.

“The muscles and skin are looser after each pregnancy, so you show earlier and more. Plus the doctors believe this one is going to be my biggest baby yet.” 

Olwyn looks up at her belly then.

“May I touch it?” 

“Sure, da’len.” She takes Olwyn’s hand and rests it against her belly. The baby moves and presses against Olwyn’s hand and she gasps.

“That is  _weird_.”

“Mhm, it feels even weirder when you feel it inside.” 

Olwyn rubs her hand tentatively against the belly, marveling at it.

“Are you excited to have another cousin?” She asks. Kel nods emphatically and looks up at her nanae.

“I’m excited for both of them.” She declares and Uthvir smiles, pulling her close to them and ruffling her hair. She reaches up and gently pats their belly that only has the slightest curve to it. It’s clear they’re pregnant, but still able to be disguised if they wish it, which most of the time they do. 

“It will be nice to have babies around again,” Tasallir comments much to Serahlin’s surprise. He had not voiced any particular desire for another baby recently, had barely commented on her current pregnancy even.

“You…like the babies? They vomit. And poop.”

But Tasallir shrugs minutely, “They are…aesthetically endearing.” Serahlin’s lips part into a wide smile.

“Oh Tasallir.”

“Don’t you start.” He warns but she continues to smile anyways. Uthvir looks away and begins to conspicuously look for the sandwich shop. Both of them like babies, she knows it, but will they ever actually admit it? Of course not.

“Have you talked to Vena and Ana about having another?” She asks. 

“This is an inappropriate conversation to have in front of the children,” Tasallir chides.

“We won’t tell!” Olwyn says quickly. Kel nods but Tasallir shakes his head - it’s decided then, but still, the idea is there. Another child would be good for the Mercier-Emmenastes, she thinks. Three parents, three children – it balances well. And she thinks it would be good for the two currently forming children too – another cousin, another person to understand. She worries a bit about Tonlen and Rissa, being in their own little age bubble, not quite with the others. Though they do seem to enjoy their little bubble – as sick and careful as it is.

They make it to the sandwich shop and put the order in, making sure to tip graciously as they leave thirty minutes later with all 19 sandwiches plus a bag of waters and sodas. 

“I think we’ll need to cook from here on out, it will be more cost effective,” Uthvir comments as they sign for the bill. Serahlin and Tasallir agree despite the groans of the girls. 

They make it back to the house and set up the food that gets torn into within minutes of setting it down. Felasel asks for a cookie but they don’t have cookies, plus his parents have taken to restricting his sugar intake. Serahlin opts to kiss the top of his head instead and he frowns at her, pointedly saying that kisses are  _not_  the same as cookies. Darevas then demands a kiss and she chuckles. Her nephews are precious.

By the time everyone is done with their food, there a few options before them. They need to go grocery shopping, but the kids want to head out to the pool. Serahlin’s approaching the need for a nap after the long walk and Uthvir seems to be flagging just a bit, though they seem to be fighting the fatigue somehow. Adannar, Vena, Selene, and Dirthamen volunteer for grocery shopping while the rest of them stay home to watch the kids and continue setting up the rooms. Uthvir excuses themselves to their room and Thenvunin follows them, most likely to make sure the room is to their liking. 

Serahlin encourages everyone to go and change into their swimsuits before heading to her and Adannar’s room to change herself. She pulls out her one piece when she realizes that without Adannar, putting this one may actually be more complicated because of her belly. Well. Alright. She pulls out a bikini and shimmies into it, her belly is going to be on display apparently.

She checks herself in the mirror and frowns. It’s not like she’s self-conscious about her body when pregnant, she’s pregnant, her body is doing its thing to grow a person and she isn’t going to fight it. But…she feels more modest with this pregnancy, more covetous which is most likely due to her knowing that this is her last one. She’s thirty-seven, and she wasn’t sure if getting pregnant after Tonlen was even a good idea, but she did and now…. this is her last pregnancy. She wants it to herself, wants to feel her belly grow, and  _she_  wants to enjoy the miracle. 

Serahlin dons a long flowing pink floral cover up and a wide brimmed hat to protect her from the sun. She checks again and nods, much better. 

She opens the door and sees Aelynthi emerging from his own room…dressed remarkably similarly in his one piece, flowing cover up, and wide brimmed hat. 

“That’s a lovely suit,” Serahlin compliments.

“And that’s a nice hat,” he replies. She wonders if Aelynthi and Victory would consider adopting another child, they are certainly able to adopt another, but ability and desire are two different things. And Olwyn is still relatively new to the family, still gets overwhelmed sometimes by the amount of loving family she suddenly has…how many happy mages there are.

They head downstairs and she calls for children that they need to be in their trunks by the time she gets down there. She wobbles on the stairs a bit and Aelynthi reaches out to steady her. Of course, swollen pregnancy ankles, wonderful. In helping her down, Aelynthi’s hand comes to rest on her abdomen - and the baby promptly kicks again.

“Oh!” He says in surprise before smiling softly and petting the spot. 

“Aelynthi? Are we going down or you going to rub my belly for luck?” She teases and he rolls his eyes.

“Forgive me for giving affection to your fetus,” he quips, but begins helping her down the stairs again. 

“Trust me, they’re getting a whole lot of affection already. Adannar reads a book to them every night and then sings to help get them to sleep.” They reach the bottom of the stairs and he lets her go to tend to her sons who are still naked and being uncooperative. 

“Children,” she chides and Ileth sets to pulling on his trunks before running out to join his cousins, but Tonlen crosses his arms and plops down on the floor, still not wanting to dress.

“You don’t have to go into the water if you don’t want to, da’len,” she says, sitting down next to him. His breathing’s been a bit ragged due the humidity recently, and she had to put the dehumidifier back in his room. She rubs his back, feeling his breathing as best she could while offering comfort.

“I want to but I can’t play like the rest of them,” he says softly. It’s an old discussion, one that she always hates having. Her child is sick, he has chronic breathing issues, suffers from frequent respiratory infections, and it makes playing with his cousins more difficult.

Aelynthi suddenly walks over and pets Tonlen’s head.

“Why don’t you hang out with me today? You can wear one of my hats.” Her son’s eyes go wide and he nods emphatically.

“Well, get dressed! Then we can go be fabulous in the sun and I’ll show you some fun magic, alright?” Aelynthi disappears to go get one of his hats and Serahlin gestures for Tonlen to continue dressing.

Tonlen nods quickly and pulls on his bottoms then lets Serahlin tie his little tankini top on. She quickly puts his hair into a braid and Aelynthi returns to plop on of his smaller hats onto Tonlen’s head. The hat is too big but Tonlen squeals in delight, running to look at himself in the mirror. He poses then demands to take pictures of himself and then himself with Aelynthi. 

Serahlin chuckles and kisses the top of the hat before walking out to the pool where she is not quite sure what is happening. 

Victory and Ana are in the pool with the kids. Rissa is sitting on the edge of the pool, giggling while Victory tosses kid after kid into the deep end. Serahlin smiles and shakes her head while she parks herself on one of the long chairs. 

Two and a half hours later and the grocery shopping team returns with oodles upon oodles of food. Selene and Ana volunteer to cook, opting for beef, rice, and broccoli. Adannar joins in the cooking with adding some vegetable quiche that he knows Ileth and Tonlen are more partial to than red meat. Serahlin shifts to sit inside and help with dinner as she can with chopping and other prep, but the chefs mostly chide her to sit down and relax. 

Uthvir and Thenvunin eventually come down from their “nap” and take up helping in the kitchen before all of the children are called in to get cleaned up for dinner. 

An hour later and a mountain of food has been prepared and most of the kids whine about the broccoli but with all the adults there, the fights are quickly neutralized and the children gnaw on the vegetables. She’ll have to be careful otherwise she’ll get spoiled to having Uthvir simply glare the kids into eating their veggies.

She’s worried that the adults who prepared dinner are also going to have to clean up when Selene rises from her seat and instructs the children to clean up.

“Get it done and we have a surprise for you,” Selene says. 

An hour later and a herd of children are running out of the kitchen yelling, “We’re done! What’s the surprise?”

“Alright! Everyone! Head out to the beach and remember the buddy system we talked about in the cars!” Selene calls, directing the stampede out towards where Aelynthi and Dirthamen are standing.

Oh great Creators, what did they do?

There’s a giant bonfire between the two and they look to be bickering about something, but then the children see the fire and gasp before launching themselves faster down the beach. Victory and Ana are there as well, holding large bags full of…aaaah.

The children are going to love this.

They run up to the bonfire and Dirthamen switches on the portable stereo, playing out first songs from when they were all in college.

“Woo!” Serahlin shouts, wiggling her hips.

“Noo! This is old!” Isabela groans loudly. There’s a chorus of agreement from the children and Dirthamen sighs, switching it over to something more modern and admittedly annoying.

Uthvir walks past Serahlin, sharp glinting metal objects in their hands…

“Uthvir! What are you doing?”

They turn and show her that they’re just skewers…but still.

“Aren’t there more child safe skewers?”

“No, and they should learn how to handle pointy things,” they answer and make their way to each child, handing them a skewer.

Right, because her sons totally need long metal things that can poke an eye out.

Uthvir hands each kid a skewer and advises them to watch the pointy end. Olwyn eyes the flames for a moment before sitting down next to Kel and sticking her marshmallow onto the skewer and then into the flame. 

They laugh and sing and tell stories well into the night before the adults declare it’s bedtime which Rissa and Tonlen seem to already have started, with Rissa asleep in her babae’s arms and Tonlen asleep in his papae’s. 

They all pile back into the house and begin the task of figuring out where to put everyone. The older kids seemed to have claimed the basement and have already half transformed it into a fort for sleeping. Rissa and Tonlen are brought upstairs to the seventh bedroom with the actual beds. Tonlen needs the support for his breathing and Tasallir just wants his youngest close, plus Rissa already expressed an interest in sharing the room with Tonlen. 

Serahlin yawns as she finishes tucking Tonlen into bed, kissing his forehead and making sure the dehumidifier they brought with them is working properly. Soon he’s softly snoring like usual. 

She rises from the bed, yawning again as she shuffles back to her room. Adannar rests a hand at the base of her back, encouraging her to lean into him. 

“How are you feeling?” He whispers, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. She hums and opens the door to their modest room. The bed is smaller than they’re used to, but they’ll make do, it’s like the size of the full he had in college which…both brings back memories and feels odd with her current state.

“Tired, ankles and feet hurt a bit.” He ushers her to the bed and helps her disrobe out of her outfit. Once she’s naked, he presses a few kisses to her stomach, then leans up and kisses her lips. 

“The kids already seem to be having a good time, the pool is a blessing, I don’t think anybody was up for the beach today,” he says as he roots through their luggage to pull out a night shift for her and some shorts for himself.

“We got here at the heat of the day, so yes, the pool was a much better idea, that and it required less set up.” Far less set up and way less child herding, which without the other four adults would have proven to be difficult. 

“The grocery store was nice, had a huge organic section that Ana’d love. Vena made sure to get all the fruits organic.” She nods as her husband continues to babble while he searches the bag, coming up with an Aha! when he finds the sleeping attire. 

She doesn’t even bother with underwear, just slips the shift on then slowly adjusts herself onto the bed to go to sleep, curled around her husband.

The next day comes bright, but not so early. Adannar is already up judging from the empty spot next to her. A groan leaves her, it’s good he’s up. He’s…helping, probably, with the kids. He can’t always stay in bed and cuddle his pregnant wife…though she’ll talk to him about it, maybe they can cuddle tomorrow.  

Serahlin’s stomach growls and she sighs. Ah yes, the hunger of a pregnant woman. She quickly gets ready, donning a simple wrap dress and putting her hair up into a pony tail before heading downstairs. She’s greeted almost immediately by the smell of bacon and the laughter of children. A warm, fluttery feeling fills her that has nothing to do with the baby inside of her. Her clan, all packed into this normally large house, though it feels small with all 19 of them, eating and being happy in the morning, surrounded by easy comfort and support. Her hand migrates her belly, immensely grateful she has had this support network to raise her children in. 

She walks into the kitchen to find the children clustered around the island, all angling to watch uncle Adannar flip pancakes. Uthvir is scrambling eggs for everyone while Selene pats the bacon down for grease.

Adannar launches a pancake into the air and catches it with ease with his pan. The children squeal with delight and he reaches out for a plate. 

“Alright! Time to plate these suckers up! Youngest goes first!” Adannar declares and Uthvir playfully makes a go for the pancake.

“I have the youngest right here,” they quip. There’s a small chuckle before Rissa hands her uncle her plate.

“Eat up! And remember, to get seconds you have to eat what’s on your plate!” He puts a pancake on everyone’s plate before turning back to the batter to make more.

“ _And_  to get another pancake, you have to eat all your eggs,” Uthvir adds. There’s a collective groan and they shrug.

“Protein over sugar, kids.”

“Yeah but these are  _halla milk pancakes_ , we never get these!” Ileth groans.

“And we are on vacation, normally rules about sugar are relaxed somewhat,” Felasel chimes in while he slathers his pancake with syrup. 

Kel nods but nibbles on her eggs first. Selene moves around, placing a few strips of bacon on everyone’s plate. Uthvir glances around the room, making questioning eye contact with each parent present before nodding.

“Alright, if you finish your first pancake you can have a second, but after that you have to eat your eggs.”

The children cry triumphantly before digging into their food. Felasel makes a grab for the powdered sugar that Dirthamen seems to swipe easily enough away. 

Serahlin chuckles as she sits down with Thenvunin who…is checking his work email on his phone. Oh for the love of –

Serahlin grabs it from him and wags her finger at him.

“Nope, you’re on vacation, they can handle things for a week while you’re gone. Enjoy your family time! Enjoy your pregnant spouse, they won’t be pregnant forever.”

“Thankfully,” Uthvir quips quietly as they place a plate in front of Thenvunin.

“There were several cases left open when I left. This was very sudden planning, not your best work, Serahlin and –

She arches a brow at him, frowning. Really? He’s going to complain about this amazing deal she scored for all of them?

“Are you really harassing a pregnant person about her scheduling?” She asks coolly.

“Lay off, bro, enjoy the surf!” Adannar calls, his mouth full of pancake. Thenvunin’s lips thin but some of the tension in his shoulders leave, especially when Uthvir takes a seat next to him.

Serahlin takes a deep breath and tries to reorient herself back into her pleasant demeanor. The baby kicks again. What a feisty little thing.

“I was thinking that since we have five couples and six days left, we could have a date night each night for one of the couples?” Serahlin offers just as Vena and Ana walk in from the pantry.

“Hey!  _Orange_  you guys glad to have fresh orange juice?” He declares. Everyone groans in response but the kids hold of their glasses as he makes the rounds. Tasallir shakes his head but there’s a small smile trying to tug at his lips. More things people won’t admit, but everyone knows. Serahlin pats her brother’s hand.

“I like this idea,” Dirthamen says after a moment and Selene nods. 

“What idea?” Ana asks.

“Date night for each couple.” Selene says.

“Yes! That sounds great. Taz, you want in on ours?” Vena asks and Tasallir contemplates for a moment before nodding.

“Yes, I would.”

“Cool. When is ours?” 

This sparks a scheduling discussion. Aelynthi and Victory return from their beach run around nine, and lobby for that night for their date night. Olwyn pouts slightly but is mulled over with promises of game night. Aelynthi and Victory make sure to kiss and hug her plenty while it’s decided that the next night is Selene and Dirthamen’s, while Wednesday is for Vena, Ana, and Tasallir, Thursday for Uthvir and Thenvunin, and then Friday for Serahlin and Adannar. Saturday night they’re all go out for a big family dinner that’s already scheduled at one of the few venues in town that would accept a party size of 19. 

After breakfast it’s decided that today is the inaugural beach day and the frenzy to get ready begins. The children scramble to throw on their bathing suits while the plates are hastily loaded into the dishwasher and Victory offers to take care of the pans - he can get ready quickly anyways. 

Getting ready takes thirty minutes but then they’re off, herding the children and two pregnant people down to the sea. They set up a large camp with Adannar, Vena, Thenvunin, Victory, and Selene quickly unburdening themselves from coolers, chairs, four tent props, a blanket, and many, many towels. Aelynthi’s grabbed a whole sand castle building set that Tonlen and Rissa seem very keen on while Kel grabs her boogie board and makes to dash off before her father stops her and practically dips her in sunscreen. 

Dirthamen, Serahlin, and Ana take up sunscreen duty while the others set up. The children whine a bit but they’re done quickly and soon they’re launching themselves down the beach towards the surf. Victory sighs behind her and takes off after them.

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO WAIT FOR AN ADULT!” He bellows and they all halt at the suddenly very military sounding voice. 

“Sorry, uncle Victory,” Serahlin hears. She giggles, shaking her head. Oh the children are rambunctious and happy, and Victory’s happy too as he sallies towards the group. Kel picks her board back up and Olwyn chases after her with her own tucked under her arm. 

“Memae, can I go in the water?” Tonlen asks, tugging gently on her cover-up. She takes his hand and nods, he can at least go in the shallows where she can. 

“Vhenan?” She turns to see Adannar and Thenvunin bickering on the best placement of the tent while Uthvir watches with an amused expression on their face, though that may be because Thenvunin’s trunks have slipped just a bit as he moved the tent. 

“Yes, sweetheart? No, bro, it should angle  _this_ way for best shadow coverage.” 

“I’m taking Tonlen for a little walk to the water, Ileth is with Victory and the twins are in the water.” 

“Auntie Serahlin, can I come too?” Rissa hops up, running over to her and her son. 

“Of course, da’len. Does your mamae want to come?” 

Ana kisses her husband on the cheek and skips over to Serahlin, Tonlen, and Rissa. Ana takes Rissa’s hand and Serahlin takes Tonlen’s as they walk down to the water and go just where the water begins to come up to their ankles. Tonlen laughs and splashes Rissa and they play until Tonlen starts to wheeze a bit and Rissa staggers, slightly out of breath. 

Vena’s about to run in and join the older children and Victory in the water when he stops to pick up Rissa and Tonlen both, playfully carrying them up the beach and back to the camp that they finally finished setting up. Selene’s currently dousing her husband in spray on sunscreen while Thenvunin fusses over Uthvir’s…is that a nest? They’re sitting in a chair but someone managed to create a stack of the coolers and towels around the chair (that’s in the middle of the camp). Uthvir’s curled up in their chair, slowly peeling and nibbling on a blood orange as their husband…checks on the nest.

Every time Serahlin thinks she has seen the oddest thing the couple has done, something new pops up. She smiles, it’s been like this for over fifteen years, and it’s going to happen for their rest of their lives, she thinks. Just two odd people who love each other to the end and back, having children like the rest of them. 

Vena plops Tonlen and Rissa down next to Aelynthi while making mock airplane landing noises. 

“Thank you for flying Babae Airlines, please thank the flight attendants and I hope you had a wonderful flight.” 

Tonlen and Rissa giggle and kiss Vena’s hands to thank to the ‘flight attendants’ and he bends down to kiss them both on the cheek.

“Now, this Babae is going to steal  _that_  mamae now, you good, little star?” He asks and Rissa nods before he kisses her again and turns around running at Ana.

“Oh here we go,” Ana says, lifting her arms in anticipation. Serahlin steps to the side, laughing as Vena picks Ana up and runs back towards the water. Ana laughs, throwing her arms around him, curling her legs around his waist. 

“Have fun, kids,” Serahlin teases and Ana gives her a thumbs up as they barrel away. 

The baby moves, kicking out against Serahlin particularly hard and she gasps. 

“Ow!” She rubs at her belly and Adannar is suddenly by her side, hand on her stomach, eyes roaming over her.

“Are you okay, what happened? Do we need to go to the hospital?” He asks quietly and she stops, assesses. The spot where the baby kicked hurts a bit, but…

“I’m okay, baby just decided to kick a bit harder than normal,” she sighs and leans into her husband, the fear quickly receding. She’s okay, the baby’s okay. 

A small hand reaches up and touches her stomach. She blinks open her eyes and looks down to see her youngest son looking cautiously and concerned up at her.

“Is everything okay, Memae?” He asks and she rests a hand over her aching heart. The little one she’s growing is fine and the bigger but still little one standing before her is okay, more than okay, he’s perfect. He has some lung issues, but they’re just a part of him, and gods, she is so happy he is okay. 

There are moments when this happens, when she is overwhelmed with gratitude for her family, for her children, particularly for Tonlen’s health. 

Serahlin sinks down and wraps Tonlen in a hug, careful not to squeeze him too tightly. She plants kisses all over his face, ears, and hair, making him giggle and snuggle both away and toward her depending on the kiss.

“I’m perfect, da’vhenan.” 

She lifts her hand for Adannar to help her up and he slowly helps her rise again.

“So, little ones, what do you want to do?” But before they can answer, Aelynthi suddenly appears with several buckets of water in his hands.

“We’re building sandcastles, that’s what we’re doing!” 

Rissa and Tonlen squeal happily, taking after their uncle to a soft spot in the sand where they begin their construction. 

Serahlin moves to sit in the shade next to Uthvir while Selene and Dirthamen head down to the surf to play with their sons. Serahlin’s settling in when Kel comes running up, tugging her boogie board behind her, sand flying behind her as she runs, smile broad on her sun-kissed face.

“Papae! The water’s great! C’mon!” She calls. Thenvunin’s face strains, clearly wanting to go frolic with his daughter but reluctant to leave Uthvir’s side. 

“Go play with our daughter, she won’t be ten forever,” they tell him, but still he hesitates, placing a gentle hand on their stomach.

“You’re fine here?”

“I’m fine, go,” they say with more force, though there’s something about their answer…Serahlin knows that even in this early stage of their pregnancy, they’re…strained somehow. Worried. Thenvunin leans up and kisses them before turning and running after Kel. 

Uthvir watches them fondly as they run off to the water, their hands coming to rest on their belly.

“You know most pregnancies turn out fine, not like my second,” Serahlin says offhandedly. They nod.

“I know.”

“Okay.”

They’re quiet for a while, listening to the waves and the laughter and soft discussion of Aelynthi and the kids nearby. It’s deeply relaxing, even when Adannar leaves to go play in the surf himself. Serahlin props herself up in her own chair, though she lacks the protective nest Uthvir seems reluctant to leave even for a moment. And while the atmosphere is calm and relaxing, the baby within her seems to be awake and ready to  _move_. They’re not kicking now, just…stretching she thinks, and her belly seems to show it. Uthvir looks down at the oddly moving flesh, their expression guarded.

“It only hurts when they kick hard…or up at your ribs. That happens when they get into that head down position for birth.” She tells them and they nod. Silence falls again and she thinks they’re napping when they suddenly lean forward, nails digging slightly into their covered stomach.

“Uthvir?”

“Something is wrong.” They say softly, a tremor to their voice. 

“Tell me what’s happening, what do you feel?” She prompts, moving slowly so she can try and see if there are any tells about what’s going on -

“It’s like…fluttering, but stronger. I’m not…” they don’t say miscarrying but they mean it she knows.

“Fluttering? Like this?” She takes their hand and places it on her belly and moves it along where her own baby is moving. 

“But inside? Pressure, bubbling almost?” 

They nod quickly and she smiles.

“Uthvir, you’re fine. It’s okay, your baby is moving, that’s it. This is supposed to happen.” 

They pause, keeping a hand on her stomach and one on theirs, concentrating on the feeling before nodding.

“Ah, that makes sense.” They force themselves to sit back more into their seat, still stiff and nervous looking. Serahlin takes off her sunglasses and makes eye contact with them through theirs.

“First pregnancies can be terrifying, and that’s normal. I was so nervous with Ileth. It’s okay to get worried and scared about things like this, but that’s why you have me, and Ana too.” She rests a hand over the hand on her stomach, patting it reassuringly before they withdraw. 

“Thank you,” they’re quiet and contemplative, lightly running fingers against their still small belly. Their lips twitch again and she knows that they felt it again - life, inside them. 

“It’s odd, you know you’re pregnant, you’re growing and nauseous and things are happening, ultrasounds and you’ve heard the heartbeat. But then you feel it, feel  _them_.” She shakes her head as she sits back in her chair, smiling.

“It is the most peculiar introductory handshake you will ever have.”

They chuckle at that, then stop, lips parting as they feel their baby again. 

**

They spend the majority of the day at the beach, until Dirthamen comes back to the tent, pink and obviously burned. Selene’s right there next to him, muttering about ineffective sunscreen as she opens one of the bags she brought and begins to gently rub her husband’s back, murmuring little healing spells. He makes a gracious noise and leans into her hands. 

“Thank you, that feels much better.”

“Should’ve used the 75 instead of the 50,” she mutters to herself, leaning forward and kissing his hair gently before gently rubbing some healing aloe onto the tips of his ears. He winces.

“That is unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Serahlin, thank you for suggesting this trip, it’s been very nice so far.” Dirthamen says and she smiles.

“I think we all needed this. Just…get away from the city and work and just relax and give in a little, at least for a little bit. I’m glad it’s working out well.” She leans back in her chair and watches the children and adults play some more in the surf. Victory’s taken up body surfing next to Kel and Olwyn and Isabela who are all on their little boogie boards, trying to catch the right wave. Darevas and Felasel and Adannar are in a wave diving competition of some sort and Adannar has to occasionally lift one of the boys up out of the water to make sure they’re okay. Selene keeps looking over at them too, double checking and smiling as she sees Adannar lift a squirming and squealing Darevas out of the water. 

“Our sons are enjoying themselves,” Dirthamen comments, smiling. Selene makes a noise of affirmation and leans in, kissing him on the cheek.

“I’m having fun too.”

“It’s amazing, to see us all here like this,” Serahlin comments, laughing softly as Vena swings Ileth around in the water. 

“Sometimes I can’t believe we’re still all together like this,” Selene says and there is a murmur of agreement. 

“Memae! Memae! Aunt Selene! Uncle Dirthamen! Nabae Uthvir-!” Tonlen says, wheezing slightly as he runs over. 

“Yes, da’len?” 

“Come look at our sandcastle!” He takes Serahhlin’s hand and tugs gently, and she goes along with him, along with Selene and Dirthamen and Uthvir too. Good, they should enjoy the beach from outside their little nest. 

They all migrate to the sandcastle where a very sun-kissed Rissa and Aelynthi continue to modify it. And it is…amazing.

“Aelynthi, are you turning the children into mini-sculptors? This is fabulous.” 

The man shrugs and shows Rissa how to pat and move the sand in a surer way, “Ah yes, little sculptors make for perfect assistants.”

“Uh-uh, uncle Aelynthi, that’s child labor and that’s illegal. Right, Memae?” Tonlen says, looking very smug with his nose up in the air. 

“That’s right, da’len, child labor is illegal, but many children work with their family a little bit to see what it’s like and that’s okay.” She pets his head and he nods.

“Oh, okay…will you pay me? Because clothes are really expensive and Memae doesn’t always buy me things I want, so I need money.” 

Everyone stops for a moment and looks at the six-year-old. Did her son really just ask that? Oh Creators. 

A snort sounds from behind her and she looks over at Uthvir who seems to be having difficulty keeping their laughter back. Another snort, this time belonging to Selene. 

Aelynthi just sits there in shock before regaining himself, “You get paid in experience, now do you want to build a sandcastle or not?” Tonlen nods and drops back down to finish his section of the wall up.

“Look at my talented baby,” Serahlin coos and Tonlen blushes.

“Memaeeee! I’m not a baby!” 

“You’ll always be my baby,” she argues, moving down to kiss the top of his head. He groans and shakes his head, long black hair flying around his face. 

They end up staying until four in the afternoon, and by that time, storm clouds are beginning to blow in from the city. Several of them, burned and tired, begin to pack up the camp and move back towards the house, dragging tired feet and herding more tired children that seem to miraculously come back alive when they see the pool. Isabela and Darevas jump in almost immediately, dropping their bags in a last ditch effort to burn the rest of their energy. Felasel yawns and stretches his back. 

“How did you get so tired, da’len?” Selene asks, petting Felasel’s hair.

“There were jellyfish in the water, I used barriers to get them away,” he yawns again and the little unit quickly moves inside. Adannar volunteers to watch the kids who want to stay in the pool, much to the relief of every other adult. 

Serahlin smiles at her husband, watching him take up his customary life guard position. 

The house is as quiet as it can be with all of them there, and they have some time before they need to start dinner so Uthvir and Serahlin opt for quick naps. She shuffles up the stairs and into her room, strips out of her bathing suit and cover up, doesn’t even bother with redressing, and promptly falls asleep on the bed.

**

The storm’s rolled in by the time Serahlin wakes up. Loud thunder rolls through the sky and the house and she startles slightly at the sheer volume of it. It is a certainly violent storm, but they’re not so uncommon in the summer, even in the city. 

She redresses and heads downstairs. Ana and Vena are curled up on the couch while all of the children are gathered on the floor, staring up at the TV as Zootopia plays. 

Serahlin pulls out her phone and snaps a few pictures of the scene, before wandering over and leaning over the side of the couch to ask Ana where everyone else is. She is directed to the kitchen where a cooking party seems to be going on. Music from their college days is playing while everyone (sans Victory and Aelynthi who apparently had already left for their date) is up making pizzas. Selene dances and sings along, moving first to hip bump Adannar, who hip bumps her back so that she hip bumps Dirthamen. 

“Looks like we’ve got a party going on!”

Adannar looks up and smiles brightly at her, “Vhenan! What do you want on your half of the pizza?” She moves over to him and leans up to kiss his lips…once…twice. 

“Spinach, onions, tomatoes, and feta cheese…and bacon, ma vhenan,” she kisses his cheek and has the overwhelming urge to curl up onto him like Ana is on Vena in the other room. Instead she just wraps her arms around his midsection and leans against him.

“Sounds delicious, I got chicken on my half, so there might be some on yours, that okay?”

“Mhm.”

The cooking party continues and an hour later all the pizza is ready and they’re all gathered around the TV for another movie before initiating game night. They put on The Empire Strikes Back which seems to reinvigorate the kids, along with the pizza so that they’re buzzing again by the time they break out the games.

The games carry on well into the night, with various games involving strategy, guesswork, and some with numbers (which Tonlen, Rissa, Olwyn, and Selene seem to cluster around). 

Aelynthi and Victory return for one last round of games before the children are put to bed and the grown-ups are left feeling exhausted as well. Serahlin leans against Adannar as a new movie is put on and the various couples gather round in little cuddle couplets. Tasallir retires earlier than everyone else and Vena and Ana take his hand in wishing him a good night. He looks down at them with affection before nodding and walking off.

“Sleep well, lethallin,” Serahlin says on an unexpected yawn. 

“You as well, lethallan,” he replies and she suspects she will not be long after him.

**

The next day brings with it the exciting challenge of buying Tonlen, Olwyn, Ileth, and Isabela new bathing suits because their other ones weren’t brought in before the storm hit and no one can find them. They’re also in need of some more beach basics, some new sand castle molds that Aelynthi seems to insist on buying himself, some new sunscreen, since they’re already running low on Ana’s supply. Ileth lost a pair of sunglasses in the waves yesterday, and the twins area already expressing their desire for souvenirs, so they have to check out the options. Not to be left out Kel says that she also wants a new bathing suit and before Uthvir can say that she already has two perfectly fine ones, Thenvunin says ‘Of course!’ 

Luckily there is a store within walking distance that should have everything they need. Thenvunin fusses a bit on whether Uthvir and Serahlin should be walking those distances but they shush him with assurances that they’re fine and physical activity is actually good. 

The way to the store is littered with last night’s storm, from small plant debris to the water continuing to run through the streets into the drains. A couple of clouds are still lingering overhead but nothing so dramatic as the great overcast that happened the other day. 

Serahlin pulls out her phone and quickly checks the forecast again. The rest of the week should be good for daily beach visits and trips, just a couple of night storms are predicted to blow through in fabulous display. 

She reaches up, stretching as she walks and Adannar places a hand on her lower back. Much of the wild fire from when they were younger has dulled, but it’s given way to something she treasures more than any wild passion - stability, comfort, a persisting love that she knows isn’t going anywhere. And while some things have changed, he still looks at her like she is the most amazing person in the room, and her heart still swells with affection when she looks at him.

“I love you,” he says and leans down to kiss her. She leans back up for the kiss to the chorus of disgusted children at seeing their parents and aunt and uncle be publicly affectionate. 

Oh they’ll know one day, she hopes, to have someone in their lives that makes them feel loved and secure and absolutely wonderful, romantic or not. 

They reach the store and the children make to disperse only to be brought back by Victory’s magical military voice.

“Hold up!”

The children halt and Serahlin smiles in amazement at it - he certainly knows how and when to whip out that voice. They all look at him and he begins to gesture.

“Tonlen, Ileth, Olwyn, Isabela, and Kel are getting new swimsuits. Rissa, Felasel, and Darevas your mission is to get beach toys - sandcastle molds, bubbles, those tubes that shoot water. Everybody know what they’re doing?”

“Yes, sir!” 

“Alright! Adults, Vena, Selene, Dirthamen, Aelynthi, and Uthvir - go with Rissa, Felasel, and Darevas for toys. The rest of us will be with the kids who need new suits.” 

Serahlin chuckles but everyone does as Victory says, each group making their way to where they need to be. Ileth gravitates towards his usual swim trunks - anything with waves or comic books he seems to be a fan of recently - while Tonlen makes a beeline towards the bikinis along with Isabela. Olwyn heads back to the tankini area, Victory following closely behind and showing her options only to be shot down. 

“Papa was right, he’s  _much_  better at this,” she quips, hanging up one of his suggestions. Isabela nods from an aisle over.

“Tell me about it.”

“You still like pink, right?” Ana asks, holding up something two sizes too small. Serahlin sighs and glides through the suits, taking down a sparkly turquoise bikini with gold strings, and then a purple halter tankini. 

“How about these?” 

The girls immediately grab them and rush off to the dressing room. Serahlin smiles and turns her attention back to Tonlen who looks conflicted between an aqua blue bikini and a yellow bikini with iridescent frills. 

“I like the yellow one, it’s very you,” she tells him and he nods.

“I think I should try them both on,” he says confidently before heading off to the dressing room. Adannar and Ileth are already at the dressing rooms, already done with picking trunks. 

“Wait for me!” Tonlen cries before running into one of the rooms. He closes the door before Serahlin can go in and help him, claiming that he wants it to be a surprise.

But five minutes later he cracks the door open, “Memae?”

“I’m coming, da’len.” She helps him into the aqua bikini and he twirls about happily in the dressing room before exiting the room and strutting his father and brother.

“Oh that one’s nice!” Adannar claps and Ileth smiles, looking at it carefully before nodding his approval. Tonlen continues to twirl until he sees it in the mirror - the scar on the side of his chest, just peeking out of the top. He covers it immediately with his hand and runs back into the dressing room. Serahlin doesn’t question it, if he wants to cover up his scar, then he can cover it up - it’s his choice and while she makes sure to never shame him for having it, and makes sure that none of the other children do either, he’s still sensitive about it. 

Sometimes she wishes he hadn’t inherited her perfectionism, maybe then it would have been easier for him. But he simply quickly undresses and puts on the yellow bikini that he doubles check to make sure it covers the scar. 

“I liked it on the hanger but I think I love it on you,” Serahlin coos, smiling broadly as she watches him pose in the mirror. 

“If I move like this, the ruffle changes color!” He giggles, “I wanna show Papae and Ileth!” He runs out of the dressing room and Adannar cheers.

“Oh that one is fantastic!” Her husband cheers.

“You should get that one.” Ileth agrees and Tonlen giggles as Serahlin steps out to the mirrored area of the dressing room. 

As he is twirling and laughing, another woman with her son enters the dressing room. She stares at Tonlen for a moment before directing her son’s gaze away.

Adannar’s gaze suddenly turns from his son to the woman and a slimy feeling crawls up Serahlin’s spine. 

“What did you just call my son?” He demands, standing up. Serahlin lifts a brow at the woman and places a protective hand on Tonlen’s shoulder. She resists the urge to get him away from the woman who she is sure is about to say things she does not want her child to hear. But Tonlen stays still and watches the woman with surprisingly sharp eyes and…no, this woman will not bully them out of the dressing room.

The woman stalls and lifts her head proudly and looks over at Tonlen, “Boys shouldn’t wear girl clothes.” Serahlin sucks in a breath and Adannar…straightens his back and suddenly looks much bigger, or perhaps he’s allowing himself to be big, she doesn’t know.

But before Adannar can speak, Tonlen takes a small step forward, “It’s just a bikini,” he says. Adannar nods and speaks.

“Exactly! It’s just a bikini, how does that make it just a girl’s thing?”

“Look at it! It’s designed for girls!”

“Why? Because it’s covering his nipples? Well maybe he doesn’t want to show his nipples. And he’s comfortable like this, is a happy child that affronting to you?” Serahlin says, wrapping an arm more securely around Tonlen.

“What’s going on?” Victory asks as he looks into the dressing room. Serahlin looks over to see the rest of the men standing there, looking in questioningly. Aelynthi moves out from behind Victory and smiles at Tonlen.

“That looks great, Tonlen!” He says. Vena nods, giving an enthusiastic thumb’s up. 

Serahlin looks back at the woman and her son, who appears to be blushing fiercely and avoiding all eye contact.

“C’mon,  _son_ , you shouldn’t be around these people and whatever  _that_  is.” She says and something white flashes in Serahlin’s eyes. Oh no, she does  _not_  get to strip her son of his person-hood just because he doesn’t conform to her restricted view of gender. 

“How  _dare_  you,” Adannar growls and the entire room falls silent. Serahlin’s own eyes widen as she watches her husband stalk forward to the woman.

“My son is smart and kind, and he likes to wear bikinis and the color pink and whatever he wants because it makes him happy. How dare you insult him and his happiness, apologize,  _now_.” His voice is low and far more serious than she has really ever heard him speak. Adannar doesn’t get mad, he is a loving and happy man, anger is the farthest thing from what he is.

But to see him get like this, defensive and angry in the defense of their son…

Creators, she loves her husband.

The woman stalls and her son rolls his eyes, “Just apologize so we can leave.”

“I would take your son’s advice, his uncles aren’t moving any time soon,” Serahlin says. The woman’s lips thin and she looks down at Tonlen, who amazingly enough doesn’t look away from her.

“I apologize for making you feel bad.”

“A real apology,” Adannar insists but the woman crosses her arms.

“I apologized, if it’s not to your taste that’s your problem.”

“I don’t want to see her any more, she’s ruining the bikini,” Tonlen suddenly says, turning away from her to look at himself in the mirror. 

She smiles down at her son and presses a kiss to her fingers that she then presses to his hair. 

“ _You’re beautiful and wise to not listen to her,_  da’vhenan,” she whispers to him in Orlesian. He glances back up at her, her own grey eyes staring at her and she smiles, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. 

There is shuffling and walking as the woman leaves and all of Tonlen’s uncles fill the room. Aelynthi is the first to step up next to Tonlen, bending down to look him in the eye.

“You look perfect.”

“Boys can totally wear bikinis! Men! Let’s show Tonlen that men can wear bikinis!” Vena declares and Serahlin laughs but there seems to be a low rumble of consensus and -

“Are you all serious?” But they’re all already leaving and heading out in what she can only guess is on the hunt for bikinis…

Adannar pops over to her and kisses her quickly on the cheek, then kisses Tonlen’s head.

“We’ll be back soon!”

Her husband is ridiculous. Tonlen’s uncles are ridiculous. 

“Are they really going to wear bikinis too?” Ileth asks and Serahlin lifts her arms in surprise.

“I think they’re going to try, though I doubt Victory will be able to find anything that is suitably child appropriate.” 

“Doesn’t Uncle Thenvunin already own a bikini?” Tonlen asks. 

“I don’t think he brought it with him,” Serahlin answers, though the reason  _why_  he didn’t bring it lies more on how it is perhaps not the most child appropriate garment, and while it was fine to see in the pictures from their spring vacations at Serahlin’s Memae’s house on the coast…it isn’t so fine to see it in person…with the little ones present.

“What colors do you think they should each wear?” She asks in a bid to distract him. 

“Uncle Tasallir should wear white or cream, or maybe he can get the adult size of the aqua bikini I had. Uncle Thenvunin should wear purple because he likes purple - maybe he can get one with ducks. Nabae Uthvir is always happy when Uncle Thenvunin wears ducks. Uncle Dirthamen should either get black or a really dark purple. Uncle Victory should wear orange, he looks nice in orange. Oh and Uncle Aelynthi should get a teal or royal blue one. Uncle Vena should wear yellow because he likes bananas so much. And Papae should wear a pink one, to match yours.” He rattles it off and soon his uncles begin to file into the dressing room, bikinis in hand. 

It’s ceaselessly entertaining to her that her son inherited her penchant for clothes, and absolutely wonderful. She wonders if he’ll enjoy makeup, or gowns, or the fashion shows she and Tasallir still go to every now and then. 

Aelynthi is the first to come out in his bikini - a high wasted and haltered number with a stylized peacock feather pattern. He poses with Tonlen for a moment before Vena emerges from his own dressing room in black shorts with a yellow strip up the side and a sunny yellow top. Tonlen grins up at both of them and soon more and more of his uncles file out of the rooms until the dressing room is filled with bikini-clad men and a very happy six-year-old. 

How Serahlin managed to secure a room full of scantily clad fathers and uncles in the same room and it  _not_  be a porno, she has no idea. But hey, scantily clad attractive men - scantily clad men whose significant others are now mouthing ‘thank you’ at her. She gives them a thumbs up as Uthvir lifts their phone and snags several photos. 

They then gasp and clutch at their stomach, Thenvunin turns fully around to face them and the light flashes again. 

Oh,  _sneaky_ , sneaky Uthvir!

“You did not just fake pregnancy problems to get that picture!” Thenvunin accuses and Uthvir just grins.

“Would I do that?” 

Yes, yes they would. But the point is moot, just like how Selene isn’t even bothering with pictures and already planning on buying the string bikini Dirthamen chose. It is their date night, after all. 

She sends up a quick prayer of gratitude for the invention of silencing wards just as Adannar strides out of his dressing room in a pale pink polka dot bikini. 

“Hey, vhenan, does this make my butt look too big?” He asks and  _then turns around_. 

Her husband has always had a nice butt, it’s always been a fairly prominent derriere, very round and…out there. She’s always been fond of her husband’s…behind and now here it is…on display.

She swallows. 

“The color is very flattering,” she says instead of answering the question and he winks at her, giving her a little shimmy before walking over to Tonlen and lifting him up into his arms.

“Feeling better, little one?” He asks and more than arousal, affection curls itself around her heart as Tonlen wraps his arms around Adannar and hugs him tight.

“Thank you, Papae.”

**

Dirthamen, Adannar, Vena, Thenvunin, and Aelynthi all end up actually buying their bikinis while Victory forgoes his because of…well, anatomical restrictions. Tasallir just disagrees with the quality of the suits, knowing that his other suits are far superior. Adannar, Vena, and Aelynthi all wear their bikinis out to the beach while Thenvunin and Dirthamen opt out, though for differing reasons. After getting burned so thoroughly yesterday, Dirthamen covers up in light loose layers that don’t irritate his skin while Thenvunin insists to remain child appropriate at all times. 

Setting up the camp goes much more quickly today now that they’ve figured everything out. And the children all line up in shivering anticipation for the sunscreen. Selene all but drenches them in the SPF, much to the dismay of several of them. Once she declares that she’s done, it’s an all-out run down to the water.

Victory, Vena, and Adannar follow after them, but they turn around and gesture for their loves to come join them when they hit the water.

“I think we’re being summoned,” Serahlin sighs and Aelynthi gives an exaggerated

Rissa and Tonlen venture in the surf a bit, convincing Uthvir to join them in the shallow areas. Victory picks Aelynthi up at one point, carrying him towards the waves before Aelynthi makes enough of a fuss that his husband puts him down. 

A few passerby stare at the bikini clad men, but most are Arlathan natives and aren’t phased by it. Thankfully, no one approaches Tonlen again on the subject and her son remains mostly happy and carefree - mostly because the child has a tendency like his mother to get hangry if he goes too long without food. 

They return to the house around four, allowing Selene and Dirthamen plenty of time to get ready for their date. And while they’re out, the rest of them convert the entirety of the living room into two forts and wage a pillow war that lasts until the kids fall asleep in the forts. Dirthamen and Selene come home just in time to see Adannar and Vena taking Tonlen and Rissa up to bed, though they only stay downstairs long enough to kiss their sons on the foreheads before practically running upstairs like horny teenagers. Serahlin can’t exactly blame them, she’s been thinking about Adannar in that skimpy bikini  _all day_ , though now she’s entirely too exhausted to do anything about it. 

She falls asleep naked on her naked husband’s chest, once again grateful for the silencing ward separating her and the couple on the other side of the wall. 

**

The rest of the week passes without much incident. A few of the parents end up sneaking off to have sex throughout the week, secure in the knowledge that there are people there to watch their kids. They spend the days on the beach, lazing and swimming and building sandcastles and boogie boarding to their hearts’ contents.

They go mini-golfing, eat too much ice-cream, see a movie, eat lots of seafood - and by the end of the week, the children seem to be so tuckered out that they opt to sleep in the cars on the way home. Serahlin can’t blame them, she dozes off herself within the first forty-five minutes. 

Monday brings with it work for the adults and camp for the kids. Serahlin only has a couple months left before she leaves for maternity leave and she’s already begun to prep to close all her cases before then. She is so busy that she almost doesn’t notice the email from Dirthamen lurking in the middle. She clicks it open, and smiles as she reads it.

_Serahlin,_

_Thank you for the recent vacation, I believe it is evident that we all had a wonderful time._

_Selene and I have spoke and have come to the decision to invest in a beach property for future such vacations. We were wondering if perhaps you would like to invest in such a property? It would be for the use of the entire clan, either way._

_Again, thank you._

_Dirthamen Evanuris_

She smiles and replies that she would love to invest after checking with her financial adviser about the best course of action. 

The plot of land ends up being purchased by the end of the month after everyone decides to pitch in. And as she reads another email about the update, she can’t help but rest a hand back on her stomach, immensely grateful for all of the many blessings in her life and for such a wonderful family.


	41. Playground Problems

Kel has to wait a little longer than some of her cousins to become an older sibling.

Isabela and Ileth got Rissa and Tonlen pretty quick, of course. And no one’s quite sure if Darevas is  _actually_  older than Felasel, like he says; but it still counts, probably. Olwyn doesn’t like to talk about younger siblings very much. At least, not where her own prospects are concerned. But she’s still adjusting to being part of Uncle Aelynthi and Uncle Victory’s family, so there’s that to consider, and all.

Kel ends up being ten years old when her nanae and papae sit her down, and tell her that they’ve been thinking very long and hard about it, and they’ve decided that they want to have another baby. That Nanae’s going to carry it, just like Aunt Serahlin and Aunt Ana have done. They’ll be pregnant, and in nine months, if everything goes according to plan, Kel will have a younger sibling.

She’s excited.

She’s so excited. She’s going to have a younger sibling. A tiny little baby to help look after, and teach stuff, and play with. She likes little kids, she always has. Cousins and students and kids at the park. Sometimes they’re a pain, but mostly they’re just really cute and interesting and funny.

But for some reason, even though she’s mostly excited, she’s nervous, too. And not just nervous about whether or not she’ll be a good big sister. For some reason, she can’t stop thinking about… things. Incidents. Like that substitute teacher she had when she was seven, who had seemed really nice but then when Nanae and Papae came to pick her up, had almost refused to believe they were her parents. Or the swim coach she had, who kept telling Papae it was so  _good of him_  to take in a ‘child like her’, until Papae had gotten furious and pulled her out of that class. Or the kids she’s gone to school with who ask where are her ‘real’ parents are.

It’s not that she thinks they’ll love a biological child more than they love her. Everybody loves Rissa, but Aunt Ana and Uncle Vena don’t love her more than they love Isabela. She doesn’t  _want_  to be scared, or nervous about it, or keep having these thoughts. It feels almost disloyal, when she knows Papae and Nanae love her so much.

Still.

She goes on her best behaviour, after they tell her about it. To help Nanae, because being pregnant is hard work. To be a good daughter. The best daughter.

She loves her parents a lot, really. They’re going to be busy with the new baby, she reminds herself. Everyone always talks about that whenever there’s a new baby, or child; about how nobody loves anybody else any less, but new children need a lot of attention. And it makes sense! She understands, she really does! She’s had her parents mostly to herself for ten years. That’s a healthy head start; she’s almost a teenager even. She doesn’t need Papae to tuck her in or Nanae to cut the crusts off of her sandwiches anymore. She can help look after Papae’s birds and she knows how to make popcorn in the microwave and she can probably just take care of herself, really, while they look after the baby.

It’s not a frightening thought.

…It shouldn’t be.

Nanae starts getting nausea. They call it ‘morning sickness’, but it doesn’t actually happen to them in the morning. Mostly it’s only just after they come home from work. Papae puts away a lot of his perfumes, and they change all the shampoos, and Nanae decides they’re going to have more home-cooked meals and no more pizza for a while (Uncle Addie promises to have her over for a pizza party if she’s sad about it). But Kel hears them throwing up sometimes, too. They come home and dash straight for the bathroom, and usually Papae is there to go and check on them; to hold their hair back and bring them glasses of water, and assure Kel that everything is fine; this is just part of the process, and it’s not fun, but it isn’t something she should worry about.

One weekend, though, Papae isn’t there. He’s at work late, on a case. Aunt Serahlin drops her off at home, which is normal enough when something happens. Kel’s not so small that she can’t wait twenty minutes alone in the apartment. She even tries to go up the stairs by herself, but Aunt Serahlin insists on seeing her safely inside, along with Ileth and Tonlen. Her own stomach is starting to get very big, now. She’s a lot ‘further along’ than Nanae is.

“You call us if no one’s come home in half an hour, okay?” she says.

Kel nods, and waves goodbye to her cousins, and heads into the quiet apartment.

It’s really not a long wait, though. Nanae gets home on time and goes straight to the bathroom. They try and wave hello at her first, but they look nauseous, and don’t manage much. Kel listens to the bathroom door close, and then goes and gets a glass of water. She pads across the hall to the door, and knocks on it.

“Nanae?” she asks.

There are some throwing-up noises.

But when those stop, they answer her.

“It’s fine, baby,” they say, through the door. “I’m okay.”

She shifts on her feet a little.

“I brought you a glass of water,” she tells them. There’s water in the bathroom too, she supposes, but Papae says the filtered kind is better.

There’s a pause, and then Nanae opens the door a little. They still don’t look very good. But they smile at her, and take the glass.

“Thank you,” they say. “I’ll be a few minutes, but don’t worry.”

“Do you want me to hold your hair?” she offers.

They smile again, but tell her it’s alright; and then they have to rush back in. Kel frets outside of the door for a minute, before heading back towards the living room. She turns off the television, though, so she can hear what’s going on. In case they call for her. Or for help. What will she do if something goes wrong? Call the emergency numbers, she supposes. And Papae and Aunt Selene and Aunt Serahlin, probably. She goes and checks the phone and makes sure it’s working.

Nothing happens, though. Nanae comes out of the bathroom eventually, and asks if she’s had a snack. They check the fridge and find that Papae left some vegetable sticks and dumplings for them. Nanae usually eats after they throw-up. It’s a little strange, she thinks, because when  _she_  throws up, the last thing she wants is to eat.

“It’s pragmatic,” Nanae tells her. “Stomach’s empty; so it’s time to refuel.”

She wrinkles her nose.

“Doesn’t it make you want to throw up again?” she asks.

“Not if it’s the right food,” they tell her.

She nods, not really getting it but willing to allow that it makes sense to them. Normally she has to do that more with Papae, but adults in general are still somewhat mysterious, sometimes. Then again, she’s seen Ileth eat cereal with raisins in it. On purpose and everything. So some stomachs just  _have_  to be different, she knows.

Taste buds, too.

The dumplings Papae made are really good cold. Nanae agrees, even if Papae himself says that’s weird. He still makes the dumplings and puts them in the fridge for them.

They finish off their snack, and Nanae offers to help her with her homework.

“Don’t you want to take a nap?” Kel asks. Sometimes they nap when they get home now, because making babies is tiring work. But Nanae just shakes their head, and shrugs.

“I’m not that tired,” they tell her. “Besides, it’s been a while since we just did something together. I’d rather spend time with you.”

Kel feels a warm rush at that. And, to her surprise, the corners of her eyes start itching. She swallows, embarrassed as she brings a hand up to her face. Oh no. Why’s she crying? Nanae looks at her and frowns a little bit.

“Kel? What’s wrong?” they ask.

She doesn’t know. She shakes her head, but now that she’s started it’s hard to stop. The tears slip out of the corners of her eyes, and onto her wrists as she tries to scrub them away. Her vision blurs, and Nanae’s chair scrapes back. They scoop her up. Some part of her thinks that maybe they shouldn’t, because she’s not so little anymore, and they’re pregnant and not supposed to lift heavy stuff. She thinks she heard that somewhere. But their arms are very steady, and it feels good to be held. So she doesn’t quite manage to object as they carry her over to the couch, and settle in with her.

They hold her as she cries. She curls a hand into their shirt and leans into them, and they just sit with her, brushing a hand down her back until her tears give way to ragged breaths. And then her breaths start to even out.

After a few minutes, they drop a kiss onto the top of her head.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” they ask.

Kel doesn’t think she can. She shakes her head, but stays hanging onto them. They don’t try and move her away.

“You want to tell Papae instead, maybe?” they suggest.

“No,” she says. “I don’t know.”

Nanae nods in acceptance. She feels better, she thinks. She didn’t even know she was feeling  _bad,_  really, but everything seems a little lighter now. After a few more minutes, Nanae plucks some tissues up from the coffee table, and helps her wipe off her cheeks. They rest their head on top of hers, for a little bit, and rub her shoulders.

She swallows.

“Do you think the baby is going to look like you, or more like Papae?” she wonders, at length. She glances down at their stomach. It’s going to get bigger, but it hasn’t yet, so far as she can tell. Definitely not as big as Aunt Serahlin’s.

Nanae pauses, and then hugs her tight.

“I don’t know,” they say. “The baby could look like neither of us, too. Genetics are funny that way. It could look like Grandmamae Mirena did, or more like my father. Or like one of our great-grandparents. It could look just like you do, maybe. We won’t know until your little sibling gets here.”

Kel blinks, surprised.

“Like me?” she asks.

Nanae nods.

“It’s more  _likely_  the baby will look like me or Papae. But I don’t know what my grandparents looked like. Do you want to learn about recessive genes?” they suggest. “I think we can find a good article about it on your Kids Science site. It’s very interesting stuff.”

Kel sniffs, and sucks in a breath. But after a few seconds, she nods. Learning stuff is probably a good idea. She could learn about the baby’s genes, and about pregnancy. And if she learns about pregnancy, she can do more to help, too. Nanae pats her shoulder again, and then they go into the study, and they do manage to find an article on genetics. It’s got plenty of pictures, too, and a fun game where you mix different face models and get different combinations. They put in some recessive genes, and Kel makes some faces that look kinda like Papae and Nanae’s – except human, because that’s the only option – and she’s surprised. Because sometimes the results do look like either of her parents, or like a mix. But sometimes also the ‘baby’ has black hair, or much darker skin, or different facial features.

Eventually Nanae goes to answer a phone call, but by the time Papae comes home, Kel is feeling a lot better. She gets her homework finally finished after dinner, and then Papae insists on tucking her in. She thinks maybe Nanae said something about her crying, because he babies her a lot, and even sings her a lullaby.

It’s nice, though. She can’t really manage to complain, as he hugs her and kisses her and calls her  _da’vhenan._

“You’re still my baby,” he tells her. “Even if we have another baby. Even if we have a dozen other babies. Even if you have your own babies, someday in the far, far away future.”

“I know, Papae,” she says, grinning at him a little. And she does. But it’s nice to hear it, even when she knows it sometimes, she supposes. Because she can be wrong, maybe. Anyone can. So when she hears it, she thinks, then it seems less likely that she might be.

She pulls at his shirt, and he leans down so she can kiss his cheek.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too, Kelvallastheneras,” he tells her. And then he hums “Tel’enfanim, da’len. Irassal ma ghilas. Ma garas mir renan. Ara ma’athlen vhenas…”

She sleeps well.

~

When Nanae’s stomach is finally starting to get bigger, Kel’s class gets a new student.

He’s a little human boy, from Orlais. The teacher has him introduce himself briefly to the class, and then he goes and takes a seat next to Olwyn. He’s a very angelic looking sort of child, with curly, light brown hair, and big blue eyes, and he talks a lot. He puts his hand up more in class than anyone Kel has ever seen, except maybe Maibrit when they were doing their unit on giants, and the teacher asks Kel if she wouldn’t mind helping him ‘adjust’.

“You look like my old housekeeper,” Jean – the boy – tells her, when recess comes. “Are your parents housekeepers?”

“No,” Kel says. “My Papae is a social worker, and my Nanae is a Consultant. What do your parents do?”

The boy gives her an odd look.

“Papa is in real estate, and mama does charity work,” he says. “You say ‘papa’ funny. And what on earth is a ‘nanae’?”

Some of the other children have caught up to them, by then. Olwyn is frowning. Kel is frowning, too, but hers is a bit more puzzled. She’s never been asked that question before. She tries to figure out how to answer, but her mind is coming up blank. A nanae is… a nanae, of course.

“A nanae is like a nenae,” Darevas offers. It gets him a blank look. “A parent?”

“Oh, your  _mére,”_  Jean says. It’s an Orlesian word, but Kel’s pleased for a moment because she knows that one. That one means ‘mother’.

“No,” she replies. “That’s a mamae, or memae. Nanae’s are different. Like bibi’s and nini’s and nabae’s, or banae’s.”

Ileth nods, while Jean looks like someone just shoved a lemon wedge into his mouth.

“Yeah. Like, Kel’s nanae is my Nabae U-Bear,” he explains.

Jean just looks confused, still, though. After a few minutes he laughs, and says that they have too many different words for parents, and declares that it must be an ‘elvish thing’ because his Tevene tutors never mentioned it. Kel can’t quite say why, but she feels better when the conversation is done with. Ileth suggests that they all go play, and Isabela immediately b-lines for the pirate ship play set on the playground, with everyone else following after her.

They play pirates for a while, which is always fun. Jean tells everyone that his great-great-grandfather was a famous pirate captain, and Isabela tells him that she’s going to get a giant ship and just sail around the world one day, and Felasel quietly mentions something about business pirates. It’s fun, and everyone’s in a better mood by the time they go back to class.

Jean sits with them at lunch, and tells them things about Orlais. Ileth and the twins are the most interested in that, because they’ve been there, too. They talk about Val Royeaux a little, and Jean says that when he went on vacation to the Dales he saw more elves than he ever had before in his life, until he came to Arlathan.

“Papa said there would be a lot of you, but there are more elves than humans at this school!” he exclaims. “And papa tried to find me the best school he could, too.”

Kel shifts around, not sure what to make of that comment. Olwyn and Felasel both are frowning, now, while most everyone else just looks as confused as she feels. It probably came out wrong, she thinks. That’s the issue. Maybe Jean meant that his papa tried to find him the best school for humans in the city, so it was surprising there weren’t more around.

The moment flies by, anyway, and after they eat, they go out to play again. Jean suggests they play a game called ‘Templars and Apostates’, which he used to play at his old school.

Olwyn goes pale.

“That’s terrible!” she tells him.

Jean blinks at her, and the uncomfortable feeling in the air comes back full force. Kel knows what it is this time, though. She’s heard enough adults and people on the news talking about Mage Issues and Templar people. Everyone else gets quiet for a moment, unsure of what to do, as Jean blinks and looks confused.

“We don’t play those kinds of games here,” Olwyn insists. “They’re mean.”

“It’s just a  _game,”_  Jean counters. “If you’re so upset about it, you can be a Templar. Then you won’t get hit.”

Olwyn looks like she’s on the verge of kicking his shins out, or maybe bursting into tears, but the whole conversation gets derailed then by a voice calling out.

Kel lets out a breath of relief as she sees Uncle Vena jogging towards them. He’s dressed in his work-out clothes, and he’s got the homework that Isabela forgot that morning with him. Isabela takes it and thanks him, and gives him a kiss before she rushes inside to put it on the teacher’s desk and pretend it was there all along.

“Having fun, kids?” Uncle Vena asks, and musses up Darevas’ hair.

“Yup!” Ileth tells him.

“Oh, Ileth,” Uncle Vena says, snapping his fingers. “Your memae’s check-up appointment got moved, so your papae’s going to be picking you up instead. He might be a few minutes later than usual, so Uncle Taz is going to wait with you and Tonlen when he comes to get Isabela and Rissa.”

“Okay,” Ileth agrees, nodding in understanding. “Is Memae alright?” Ileth gets nervous about his memae, sometimes, because when she was pregnant with Tonlen it was a very hard time. Kel understands a lot better now that her nanae’s pregnant.

“Yup, she’s just fine,” Uncle Vena assures him.

He goes off to check on the littler kids, then, and after a few minutes Isabela comes back.

“Was that your butler?” Jean asks her.

Isabela blinks at him.

“No,” she says. “That was my babae.”

Jean frowns.

“Your  _what?”_  he asks, sounding a little lost at sea , and a lot angry about it.

“He’s one of her fathers,” Kel offers. Jean really doesn’t seem to know  _anything,_  so she decides to take pity on him. “Darevas and Felasel have a mother and father they call ‘mamae’ and ‘papae’. Isabela and her little sister have two fathers and a mother, called ‘papae’, ‘babae’, and ‘mamae’. Ileth and his younger brother have a mother and father they call ‘memae’ and ‘papae’. Olwyn has two fathers, she calls ‘papae’ and ‘babae’. And I have a parent and a father, and I call them ‘nanae’ and ‘papae’.”

Jean doesn’t look grateful for the clarifications, though.

“Well how do you know what you’re supposed to call anyone, with all that?” he asks.

They all glance at one another.

“How do you mean?” Ileth finally asks. “You just call people what they tell you to call them, right? Well. Unless you like giving everyone nicknames, or something. Like Uncle Vena, he gives  _everyone_  nicknames. Tonlen always gets different ones. One time it was fifteen in one day. That’s the record.”

“I suppose…” Jean allows.

He doesn’t look happy about it, though.

But after a few more awkward moments, Darevas suggests they all go play hide and seek, and things get less awkward again. Olwyn begs off after the first round of hiding and Isabela goes with her to the water fountain, and so neither of them are there when Jean folds his arms, and looks at Ileth.

“So, if Isabela has two fathers, then her mother’s probably a whore, right?” he asks.

They all go deathly quiet. That… that is a  _very_  bad word. That is a very bad thing to say, and Kel thinks of Auntie Ana, who is always nice and made a special perfume for Papae so he could wear it around Nanae even when Nanae was still throwing up a lot, and gives good hugs and makes silly faces, and…

She’s closest.

She gets there even before Ileth, and punches Jean. Right in the cheek. He makes a sound of pain and surprise, and reels back. Kel hits him again, and then Ileth gets there and kicks him in the leg, which makes him fall down. Then they stop, because Papae says it’s bad form to hit people when they’re down, and Nanae says you only do it if you’re committed to homicide.

Kel’s pretty mad but she’s not  _that_  mad.

The other kids on the playground turn to stare as Jean cries, and then the teacher runs up, and asks what happened. She takes Jean to the school nurse, and tells Kel that she’s going to have to stay after and report to the principal.

Olwyn and Isabela come back as they watch the teacher lead Jean away.

“You bruised your knuckles on his dumb thick skull,” Darevas notes, gently poking Kel’s hand. “Uncle Thenvunin’s going to flip his lid.”

“Do you think we’re going to have to change schools again?” Felasel wonders, frowning. “I wasn’t planning on that…”

“What happened? What did he do?” Olwyn asks, then, and so everyone starts explaining. And then they have to stop Isabela from hauling off to the nurses’ office and getting into trouble, too, because she wants to make Jean eat a dirt clod.

After lunch is done with, the teacher gives them all a lecture on how ‘we don’t hit people to resolve our differences’.

“Sometimes we do,” Darevas solemnly intones, and the teacher tells him if he doesn’t stop being a smart-mouth he’s going to have detention.

Then the teacher sends Kel to the principal’s office. Jean’s already there, and he’s got a big ice pack and a swelling bruise, and when the secretary goes to call their parents, he almost shrieks at her not to leave him alone with the ‘crazy elf’. Kel supposes that’s her. The secretary tells him it’s bad to make generalizations, but lets him into the office with her while she phones. Kel flicks some of the nail polish her Papae put on her yesterday off of her thumb, and thinks a lot. She doesn’t feel bad for hitting Jean, not really, but she probably shouldn’t have done it anyway.

She should probably learn more insults, she thinks. Then she can just say mean things back to people. But it’s hard because what if she called Jean a stupid baby, or something, but then when her sibling comes, they’re an  _actual_  baby and they’re… not smart, maybe? Then she’d feel bad. Being smart’s not all that important. Everyone’s supposed to take their own time, that’s what the grown-ups are always saying.

At least when she hit Jean, she was being very  _specific_  in her disapproval.

Her hand hurts a bit, though. She thinks maybe she tucked her thumb in wrong. She arranges it a few times like how Nanae showed her, trying to remember, and winces as her knuckles ache.

A few minutes later, the secretary and Jean come back. And then not long after that, Nanae arrives. Kel feels a rush of guilt, because this probably counts as a stressful situation. But they don’t look very upset. More curious, as they stare at Jean, and then go over and sit with her.

“Is Papae coming?” she wonders.

“He’s at work, still,” Nanae tells her. “We can explain things to him afterwards. Why did you hit this kid?”

Jean stares at Nanae’s stomach, and then at their face, and then looks nervously away.

Kel scowls at him.

“He called Auntie Ana a…” she trails off, and frowns. “I don’t want to say it.”

“I didn’t call your stupid shushae or whatever she is to you  _anything,”_  Jean objects. “I just  _asked_  if she was one.”

Nanae’s eyebrows go up.

“She’s my  _aunt,”_  Kel replies. “I just said that.”

“It’s not like I can trust it, when you have got all these made-up words for everything,” Jean tells her. “Nadaes and binnies and flip-florps, probably. I’ll call her your aunt and you’ll probably turn around and tell me that’s wrong, she’s clearly a boogoo of course. The elves back home don’t have any of those, they just use normal words.”

Kel wants to hit him again. But she’s also kind of confused, again. Elves in Orlais have parents and stuff, she knows. Aunt Serahlin is from there. Before she can say anything, though, Nanae puts a hand onto her shoulder.

“Kid,” they say to Jean, in a tone of voice that makes him look nervous. “Stop digging yourself deeper. The existence of words you don’t recognize isn’t an attack. The punch was.”

“Punch _es,”_  Kel corrects.

Nanae’s lips twitch, but when they look at her they’ve got their disapproving face on.

That’s around when Jean’s mother shows up. She kinda reminds Kel of her Papae, in that she immediately starts shouting about her poor baby’s face and declaring that she’s going to sue them and sue the school and how this is unacceptable. That’s where the resemblance ends, though. She also says some stuff in Orlesian, but most of it’s too hard for Kel to follow.

She points at Kel and Nanae.

“Are  _these_  the kind of people your school permits attendance to?” she demands of the principal.

The principal folds her hands on top of her desk, and levels Jean’s mother with a patient look.

“Madame Bernard, I regret that your son was physically struck. We endeavour to maintain good oversight of playground behaviour, but sometimes, children come into conflict. If you do not feel like our institution is a good match for your son anymore, then I completely understand. This was a terrible first day experience, and you are welcome to seek whatever actions you see fit,” she says. “But we also do not tolerate ugly language at this school. We pride ourselves on the diversity of our student body, and have a firm policy against slurs or verbal abuse as well as physical violence. Adjustment periods are difficult, and getting used to a new country can be very stressful, and lead to misunderstandings. As such, if Jean is willing to apologize for his comment, then he will not face further punishment for his involvement in this incident.”

Jean’s mother goes  _ape._

“Involvement?! His  _involvement?!”_  she demands. “His involvement was getting attacked by that little-“

Nanae covers her ears.

Kel blinks up at them, and frowns. But they’ve got their palms flat over top of the entirety of her ears, so all she can hear is a distant, muffled screeching, She can’t squirm out of it. They’re holding her firmly, and they have their ‘blank’ face on. Which means they’re mad. Madame Bernard keeps going, it seems, and the principal doesn’t look very impressed with her. Jean is staring at the floor.

Eventually, the principal sends Madame Bernard and her son out of the office. It’s only after she does that Nanae finally lets go of her head.

“Well, in light of  _that_ , I think we will be going, too,” Nanae says tightly, when the principal gets back.

The older woman takes in a deep breath, and nods at them. And then she looks at Kel.

“Kelvallastheneras, I do not think the Bernards would appreciate an apology at this juncture, so I won’t ask you to make one. But you’re going to have to write a paper for your teacher on appropriate responses to verbal harassment or insults, and take a day’s suspension for breaking the school rules against violent conduct. You can go home, now.”

Kel nods in understanding, and Nanae holds her hand as they lead her out of the school and down to the car. They brush their hand over their stomach a few times, so she pats it, too, before she gets into the passenger side. The baby probably does have ears yet, or even if it does it doesn’t know words yet, so it probably didn’t get hurt by Madame Bernard’s yelling. Right?

“It’s okay,” Nanae assures her. “You shouldn’t have punched him, though.”

She sighs, and clicks in her seatbelt.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she says. “Do we have to tell Papae?”

“Yes, we have to tell-“

_Wham._

There’s a shriek of metal, and Kel’s heart jumps and she lurches forward as the car jolts. An arm catches her before the seatbelt does, as Nanae stretches it out in front of her quick as a flash. Their other hand grips the steering wheel, and a second later they’re patting her over. Checking for damage.

“Are you hurt?” they ask.

Kel blinks. Her heart’s racing, but she’s mostly just startled.

“No. Are you, Nanae?” she wonders, her eyes flying to their face, and then to the soft, outward curve of their stomach.

“I’m fine, baby,” they assure her, and then they reach down and click their seatbelt off, and open their door. Their face goes all blank again. “Stay here.”

That’s their ‘no arguments’ voice.

Kel cranes around to see in the rearview mirror, though, spying a bright silver car. Madame Bernard comes out of it, and starts shouting at Nanae, and for half a second Kel thinks they’re going to hit her. Just like she hit Jean. But then they fold their arms instead, and Madame Bernard calls them  _knife-ear._

Kel reaches for the door handle, but it’s locked. She crawls over to the driver’s side, and undoes the child safety locks, and then gets out anyway. Stress is bad for people who are having babies. This is the second time this person has yelled at Nanae today, and it’s because she punched her stupid son. She dashes down the road, gaping at the mess that’s just been made of the back of their car – and the front of Madame Bernard’s.

“You crashed into me on purpose! You’re trying to kill my son!” the woman shouts.

The air around Nanae is cold.

“A word of advice, Madame,” they say, in a voice that’s even colder. “You’re not in Orlais anymore.”

Kel’s steps falter. The woman keeps yelling, but she doesn’t really listen to what she’s saying. She looks at her nanae, instead. Their eyes are darker than usual, and they look very tense. That’s… probably not good. They need to be relaxed, and peaceful. She reaches up, and tentatively pats their elbow.

They look down at her, and blink. And then they thread their hand with hers, and let out a long breath. The parking lot is full of onlookers, by now. The gravel on the road crunches a little, and Kel looks as a familiar car pulls up alongside them.

Uncle Adannar leans out of the driver’s side window, frowning at them.

“Trouble?” he asks.

“The lady hit our car,” Kel tells him, quietly.

Uncle Adannar’s gaze darts to Nanae’s stomach, too, and then up to their face, and then back to Kel. He looks very pale, all at once. The colour goes out of his lips.

“You!” Madame Bernard exclaims. “I recognize you, you were at the charity ball in Churneau last season. Your wife is Sarah Lynne, yes? Respectable elves, at last! You must-“

“I don’t know you,” Uncle Adannar interrupts, in a tone of voice that Kel has never heard him use before. “But if you have a connection to my wife, you had better hope your financial or social reputation doesn’t depend on it. Because when she hears about this, she’s going to  _destroy_  you. Kel, Uthvir, get in with us, please. You can come home with us. We’ll call a tow for your car, I think both your rear lights are smashed, you shouldn’t drive in it.”

Nanae hesitates, for just a moment. Madame Bernard looks like someone just dumped a bucket of cold water down the back of her shirt. But then Nanae urges her gently over to the rear door, and gets into the backseat with her. Squishing her into the middle, as Ileth cranes around from the front passenger side, and Tonlen grins at her.

“Hi, Kel! Hi, U-Bear!”

“Hey, kiddo,” Nanae replies, managing a smile. Uncle Adannar rolls the windows back up to shut out Madame Bernard, and slowly starts driving back down the street. After a few minutes, he glances at them in the rearview mirror.

“Anyone hurt?” he asks, softly.

“No,” Uthvir assures him. “We’re both alright, Adannar. It was a fender-bender. She had her own kid in the car with her, she couldn’t hit us  _that_  hard.”

“She had her own kid in the-“ Uncle Adannar starts, and then stops all at once, like he’s swallowing swears.

Kel kind of feels bad for Jean, now. Her Nanae would never smash into someone else on purpose, least of all while she was with them. None of the adults she knows would. Not even Uncle Vena, and he really likes bumper cars and MarioKart.

The drive is kind of awkward and quiet and uncomfortable. Ileth twists around and looks at her, and asks if she wants some gum. She says yes, mostly because it just seems like a good way to say  _something_. The quiet crinkling of the wrappers fills up the car, as Uncle Adannar very slowly and carefully drives them home with him.

It’s less awkward when they actually get to Uncle Adannar and Aunt Serahlin’s house. Then there’s dogs barking happy greetings from the yard, and Ileth sets up a game because he’s teaching Tonlen how to play  _Dragon Battles,_  and Kel takes turns with him using the second controller. Nanae and Uncle Adannar disappear for a little bit to make phone calls and catch their breath, and then Ileth leaves the game to go and get cheese and crackers and juice, and offer some to everyone.

Aunt Serahlin comes home while he’s doing that. She looks very pretty, in her powder blue dress and crisp white jacket, with her hair all loose except for a couple of clips. She snuggles Ileth until he squirms away in embarrassment, and cuddles Tonlen, and then comes over and hugs Kel, too, and kisses her forehead.

“Come and tell me what happened, da’len,” she says, squeezing Kel’s shoulder. She takes her aside, over to the bedroom as Uncle Adannar and Nanae’s voice still carry up from the study. Kel wonders if Aunt Serahlin will tell her off for hitting as she launches into her explanation.

She doesn’t lie. Aunt Serahlin can smell lies, everyone knows that.

But she does try to keep it all as stress-free as possible, because as the explanation carries on, Aunt Serahlin starts to look more and more like Nanae’s blank face. And Kel finds herself wondering if maybe you’re not supposed to tell pregnant people about bad things not just because of stress, but also because people get a lot more dangerous when they’re pregnant.

That would make sense, she thinks. By the time she’s finished explaining, Aunt Serahlin looks a lot like the villain in Kel’s favourite cartoon.

Kel kind of likes that character, though, so afterwards she just fidgets a little, and then hugs her aunt to make sure she’s not in trouble.

Aunt Serahlin wraps her arms around her and rubs her shoulders.

“It’s alright now,  _b_ _éb_ _é._  Thank you for telling me,” she says.

Her accent is really thick.

She tells Kel to go and get the candy jar out of the cupboard by the fridge, in the kitchen, and let everyone have one, then. Kel goes off to do that, and it takes her a few minutes to help Tonlen pick a flavour, and then Ileth wants to find a green one. Kel gets a blue bubblegum candy shaped like a dolphin, and then goes and carries the jar to the study, where all the adults are gathered in a way that makes her think of that movie they made about Uncle Dirthamen’s great-great-grandparents.

Everyone plotted a lot of murders in that. She wasn’t really supposed to watch it, one character got stabbed like fifty billion times. Which seemed lime more than was necessary just to kill him, really.

“Stress is bad for pregnant people,” she pointedly reminds them all, before holding up the candy bowl.

Nanae just ruffles her hair, but they also smile a bit, at least.

It’s five o’clock when Papae comes to get them. He squeezes Kel so tight she feels like she might burst, and fusses a  _lot_  over Nanae, and the fussing doesn’t stop when they get home, either. Not that she expects it to. Papae makes her promise to tell him if her neck starts hurting, or if she feels dizzy, or sick, and she promises, and then he takes Nanae into their room while she does homework. Both of her parents tell her to knock twice if she needs something.

They’re still in there when the phone rings, so Kel decides to answer it.

“Var’Inanenansal residence, Kel speaking,” she says.

“Ah, yes. Kel. This is Monsieur Bernard. Could you put one of your parents on?” a man with a thick Orlesian accent says. He sounds nervous.

Kel frowns, and considers this for several long seconds.

“No,” she decides, and hangs up on him.

When the phones rings again, though, Papae comes out of the bedroom. He gently shoos her back to the table and her school work, and answers it himself.

“Var’Inanenansal residence, Thenvunin speaking,” he says. There’s a pause, and Kel can hear some sounds on the other end of the line. Papae’s lips go thin, and the muscle in his jaw clenches. She frowns, and fiddles with her mechanical pencil, worried that another Bernard has come to distress another member of her family.

After a few minutes, Papae’s chin lifts up.

“I think not,” he says.

Then he hangs up.

Kel giggles, and her papae looks over at her. He smiles, and asks what’s so funny.

“Nothing,” she says. Still. It makes her think of nanae’s blank look, and Aunt Serahlin’s sharp one, and Uncle Adannar’s cold voice. Kel doesn’t think she’s that good at being the grown-up kind of angry… but maybe she just takes after her papae, instead. That’s a nice thought. She gets up from her chair again, and goes and gives him a hug.

“We should go to the lake,” she says. “With Nanae and Aunt Serahlin and Uncle Adannar, and Ileth and Tonlen. Everyone’s much calmer there. And I bet the dogs would like it, too.”

Papae puts his arms around her, and looks surprised at first. But after a few minutes, he smiles.

“It’s a very peaceful atmosphere,” he agrees. “There’s a long weekend coming up at the end of the month. Shall we invite them to come with us?”

Kel nods in prompt agreement. Her papae squeezes her.

“What a good idea,” he commends.

She grins, happily.

Sometimes – just sometimes – she has those.


	42. Skipped a Beat

Rissa likes school.

Her cousins are there, the teachers know a lot of stuff, and Isabela likes to visit her class a lot.

Rissa likes it when her sister visits. That means they can eat lunch together, and play pirates with their other cousins. Isabela is the captain and Rissa is the navigator. Sometimes they make drawings, and other times they just talk.

There are problems sometimes when the other students question them about how they could be sisters. Rissa just tilts her head to the side.

Because they just are. They’re sisters. What else could they be?

The teacher sent her to the nurse today. She wasn’t feeling well, so the nice nurse gave her a juice box and did a check up. Rissa likes the nurse. He talks in funny voices and lets her have an extra lollipop. She’s there when a boy comes in complaining about being punched several times. He’s got bruises on his cheek and his legs and he’s complaining about  _confusing elven words._

He even yells at the nice nurse. She…. doesn’t like that he does that. But the room is spinning a little so she lies down instead, pulling the blanket over her head.

A few minutes later, after the boy leaves, the nurse wakes her up because recess is ending.

“I just want to do a quick check,” he says. Rissa nods and kicks the blanket off of her. The nurse then brings out that thing doctors use, the stethoscope. She’s seen them on T.V.

He moves it around and makes a funny face. She wonders why, until he takes it away and pets her hair. He doesn’t offer her a lollypop. It’s okay, she’s had two already.

He goes over to his desk and scribbles something on his pad as Rissa puts her shoes back on. He hands her a note.

“Take this to the office on your way back, okay?” He says. Rissa can’t read the words very well. They are big words she can’t quite make heads or tails of, and the penman ship is… frankly, atrocious.

She relents and waves at Kel who is waiting for the principal. Apparently she was the one who punched the boy for saying mean things about her mamae of all people. Rissa kinda wants to punch the boy, too.

~

After school, Isabela finds her and they wait together for papae to come. He’s going to be late because of traffic, so the teacher sends them to sit in the office. Isabela and Rissa talk about the cartoons they’re going to watch on T.V. and the games they’re going to play at home.

She’s a little light headed again, but it’s not too bad. She jumps when there’s a loud crash and outside the school. There was a car accident, and car accidents are bad. People can get  _very_  hurt in them. That’s why mamae always tells her to remember to buckle up at all times.

She’s breathing rapidly, and her heart is beating very fast.

When she sees her nabae step out of one of the cars her breaths come faster. Kel isn’t too far behind and some people from the office rush outside, too. Isabela is shaking her arm but she can’t pull her eyes off the scene. There is a lady screaming at her nabae and Uncle Adannar drives up.

Her hands and feet feel a little numb, too.  _What if her nabae is hurt? What about Kel? The other boy in the car and his mamae? The cousin Nabae Uthvir is carrying?_ Is all she can think about.

“Rissa!”

Rissa turns to see her sister, and she can see are spots in her vision, and it’s getting blurry. Someone holds a paper bag over her face and tells her to breathe.

The sound scared her a lot, and nabae and Uncle Adannar are gone. Papae’s car is in the parking lot now. The nice nurse is petting her hair and talking to her softly about the different types of planets.

She likes planets, so she begins listing them off in her head, before everything turns dark.

~

When she opens her eyes, it’s bright, and there’s a mask on her face which is uncomfortable. There’s also a weird noise coming from big machines next to her, and she gets scared again, until there’s a hand resting on her forehead that makes her relax. It’s a familiar hand.

“Good morning, da’len,” mamae says. Babae is there, too. Rissa blinks a few times and sits up a little on the strange bed she’s in. There is a man wearing a lab coat who enters the room with a clipboard. He smiles at Rissa, and she smiles back.

“A word please, Mr. and Mrs. Emmenaste,” he says. Babae tells her that they’ll be right back and they follow the doctor outside the room.

Rissa begins to list off the planets again. She goes through all eight at least four times before her parents are back. They’re smiling, but their smiles don’t quite reach their eyes.

“What are we doing? Can we go home, now?” She asks, eager to watch cartoons with Isabela. Where is Isabela, she wonders. And Papae, too.

“Not yet, just a few more minutes and we can go home,” mamae explains. “The doctor wants to run an  _ultra sound_.” Rissa raises a brow.

“That sounds like a special move from something like Dragon Ball Z, mae.” Babae snorts.

“It does, doesn’t it,” he says. His smile finally reaches his eyes, she thinks. Mamae’s too. She figures it won’t be that bad.

~

There is another doctor now and she makes Rissa lie down without her shirt on. The room is dark and her parents are close by as she squirts some weird liquid on her chest. It’s not warm, and it’s not cold, either. It’s… difficult to describe. There is then some big, chunky… thing that the doctor puts in the gel and moves it around.

She makes a lot of thoughtful noises at her computer screen that Rissa can’t see. Mamae is looking on, as her babae holds her hand. He’s humming the theme song from Sesame Street, and she begins to softly hum along too.

The doctor squirts more gel, and Rissa decides she doesn’t like ultra sounds.

“Just as we thought,” the doctor whispers. “She would need a Catheter Assisted Surgery to sew up the hole in her heart.”


	43. Strength

They’re wheeling Rissa away to the OR, directing Ana and Vena and Tasallir off of her gurney as they hit the red stripe on the floor. 

“No medical personnel beyond this point, I’m sorry,” one of the nurses say, but Ana practically clings to the gurney, staring down at her infirm daughter. 

Serahlin watches as her friend’s knees bow as Vena has to unclamp her from the gurney to let their daughter go. She walks quickly over to Ana, Vena’s arms coming around his wife to support her in standing. 

Tears are running down her face, hands gripping Vena’s as she stares at the quickly disappearing gurney.

The doctors with Rissa turn a corner and then they’re out of sight. A noise escapes Ana and Vena pulls her in closer to his chest.

“She’s going to be fine, they know what they’re doing, she’s going to be fine.” He says over and over again. 

Tasallir rests an uncertain hand on Ana’s back for a brief moment, trying to comfort, but Serahlin can see the strain on his face, the way he holds his other hand, how his eyes keep flicking back to that corner. He’s scared too and comfort has never been his strong suit. But Serahlin…Serahlin is familiar with this.

“Ana? Ana, you have to listen to me. You have to believe she’s going to be okay and you have to be strong, she needs you to be strong right now, alright?” Serahlin says softly, gently cupping her friend’s face. 

“You’re her mother, you’ll always be her mother, and it’s scary but you have to be strong right now. She needs your strength, Ana,” she whispers, stroking the tears off of her face. 

She remembers sitting in the hospital, barely recovered from her blood loss, staring into the clear plastic box Tonlen was put in. To help his lungs, they told her. When one of his lungs collapsed, they told her it happens, they can fix it.

When he spent three days with a tube down his throat and a machine breathing for him, she thought she would die from the fear. He was so little, his little body shaking as they forced air into him. 

She couldn’t sit with him and she had to at the same time. Her little baby, dying while she watched but she refused to let him go alone.

They had to repair his lungs and chest wall, and slowly his stats began to go up. They took him off the ventilator and she sobbed as she watched his chest rise and fall with breath. Her baby could  _breathe_. 

“Ana, Ana you can get through this, Rissa is strong, healthy - she will pull through.” She continues to say, moving her head to maintain eye contact.

Vena curls more around his wife and kisses her head. Serahlin watches as Ana’s breathing begins to even out and her hand darts out to hold onto Serahlin’s.

“No matter what happens, you’re her mamae, she is going to get through, you’ll never lose her.” 

Tonlen got a respiratory infection when he was two. He ended up back in the hospital, his still fragile lungs were monitored while he recovered while they pumped him full of antibiotics. She had curled her body around him as he shivered and coughed into an oxygen mask. She gave him her strength, as much of it as she could. And he got better.

And Ana will give Rissa her strength, and Rissa will get better. 

She has to. 


	44. Commiseration

Rissa’s sick. Tonlen knows that his cousin is sick and that she’s in the hospital, and he understands that. Understands how hard it is to be in the hospital, to be sick, to not be out like everyone else. 

He understands the panic and loneliness that comes with lying in that bed, with needles and tubes in your arms and weird pads attached to your chest, a mask or tubes wrapped around your face….

Waking up with a tube down your throat and fighting against it. 

Memae says that it’s her heart, the thing between the lungs. 

“How can I help?” He asks immediately, because he knows. He understands. 

When he visits her the next day in the hospital, he crawls into her bed and takes her hand, because that’s what he wants the most when he’s in the hospital. 

He talks about school a little, about how everyone is making her cards to wish her better. He turns the TV on in her room so they can watch cartoons, but they can’t watch anything too funny because she says it hurts when she laughs. 

Tonlen gets that too sometimes. 

He switches it to Judge Judy before uncle Tasallir comes in and promptly appears horrified and changes the channel to Big Cat Diary. 

Nurse Abigail comes by and says hi to Tonlen before taking some of Rissa’s blood. 

“Don’t you want to go play with our cousins?” She asks, wheezing a bit. 

“No,” he says immediately and snuggles in closer. He’s not leaving her. 

He shows her the most comfortable way to wear the oxygen mask, then talks nurse Abigail into giving both of them jello when uncle Tasallir goes to the bathroom. 

She needs to sit up at one point, to make her breathing easier, and he lets her lean on him. 

“You’re bony,” she says, weakly poking at his shoulder. He’s about to respond when he gets distracted by the TV. He nibbles on his jello and uncle Tasallir returns the room, frowning at the jello.

“Where did you get those?”

“The nurse said that Rissa needs to get her strength up, jello helps,” Tonlen responds easily. Rissa nods and swallows the jello, trying not to laugh as she watches her papae’s face slowly untwist itself.

Tonlen understands being sick. Understands being in a hospital and away from everyone, how somehow everything feels like your fault. His small hand holds hers and he tries to make it just a bit better. Because he understands.


	45. Fairy Tale Rissa

From an early age, Serahlin would…borrow Rissa. Not having a daughter of her own, she wanted to spend time with a little girl, and this way Vena could spend time with her boys. At the end of the day, the children would almost always end up in a sleepover, talking about the day they spent with their aunts and uncles. 

And then Serahlin had Asarla, beautiful little baby Asarla who looks just like Serahlin when she herself was a baby (according to Serahlin’s memae). She loves her daughter immensely, and in the haze of having a newborn, plus a ten-year-old, and a six-year-old, plus a still very fruitful and successful career - Serahlin gets a little preoccupied. She doesn’t see her nieces and nephews nearly as much and soon she finds she misses them. 

While Serahlin doesn’t yet wish to part too much from her baby, she invites Ana, Vena, and Tasallir’s little branch of the family out to the park.

It is a warm spring day, and the children take full advantage of the sun. Isabela, Tonlen, and Ileth are quick to run out and play but when Rissa sets out to join, Tasallir takes her hand reminds her of what the doctor said. She needs more time to recover. 

Rissa’s face scrunches up in frustration as she looks out at her sister and cousins running amok. 

Serahlin sighs and hands Ana Asarla.

“Isn’t she precious? Doesn’t she make you want to have another one?” She asks. Ana’s eyes soften as she holds the tiny babe close suddenly thrown into deep thought and contemplation. Vena’s eyes are drawn to his wife’s form and just as she wished, soon enough the other adults are all in their own little contemplative head spaces. Would another baby work? 

Serahlin turns her attention to Rissa.

“Walk with me, da’len?” She holds out her hand to the girl who looks back at her parents who nod and wave her on. Rissa takes Serahlin’s hand and they begin a slow walk to the small pond.

“When I was seven, I broke both of my legs when I fell out of a tree.” She says after they’re a suitable distance away from the others. Rissa looks up at her with wide eyes.

“That must’ve hurt!”

Serahlin nods, “It did! But what was worse was that for almost an entire year I couldn’t play with my friends. They would run around and jump and do all these sorts of things that I just couldn’t do, and my Mamae and Memae made sure that I didn’t. I got very frustrated with them…and with myself.”

Rissa’s eyes widen and she looks away, “I miss playing with my sister.”

“And she misses playing with you, but this doesn’t mean you’ll never play with each other again, one day you will be strong and healthy enough to play again. But right now your body needs time to rest and heal, and that isn’t your fault. That isn’t anyone’s fault - sometimes these things just happen.”

“It still sucks, though.” Rissa pauses and blushes, “sorry, I’m not supposed to say that word.”

But Serahlin chuckles, “It’s alright, it’ll be our little secret. And did you know that uncle Thenvunin had leg braces and physical therapy when he was little? And he couldn’t run around like the other either?” 

“Really?”

“Mhm, so if you ever feel upset or frustrated and you want to talk about how much it  _sucks_ , ask your mamae, or papae, or babae if you can call me or your uncle Thenvunin, okay?” Serahlin runs a hand over the girl’s hair as she nods.

“Okay.”

“Good. Now, when you slow down, sometimes new things and possibilities pop up….like, see those flowers?” Serahlin points to a little patch where wild flowers are growing. Rissa nods.

“Would like them in your hair?” Serahlin offers and the girl’s face lights up.

“Yes!” 

Serahlin chuckles and sits her niece down, “Then lets see about creating Fairy-Tale Rissa, hmm?”


	46. Pampering

Ana knows the best remedy for stress is a little pampering. She makes sure to pick up a few of her products before leaving her shop for the day. Just some hair oils and bath salts.

She contemplates in front of her flowers. Which ones to use for the bath? Not roses. As popular as they are, she isn’t fond of the smell. Lilies are nice, and they go well with elfroot. She picks up a few lavender blooms for good measure because the scent is relaxing. This is to be soothing, and comforting. Not for her. For Vena and Tasallir.

When she comes home with her girls, her arms are full of her products and flowers. She sets them in her bedroom and starts on dinner as the girls busy themselves with homework.

Tasallir is the first to come home, as Vena is held up at work for a while longer. She supposes it’s unavoidable. They’ve all been backed up with work since Rissa’s collapse. They eat dinner without her husband that night, and she hopes it won’t be a regular occurrence in their household.

Once the girls disappear to play some more, Ana brings Taz some of the products she brought home.

“To hold you off until your spa date with Serahlin this weekend.” she says.

Taz’s lips quirk a little as he thanks her. She offers to draw him a bath but he refuses, saying he can do it himself. However, he permits her to do his hair. She sets about warming some of the hair oils in her hands before running them through his hair, massaging his scalp in the process.

~

When Vena does come home, it’s past the girls’ bedtime and Tasallir has disappeared into his bath. Ana settles into her bed with a book when she hears the sound of the front door opening and the shuffling of shoes coming off. She steps into the hallway to see the lights are still out, and Vena’s suit jacket tossed over the couch along with his bag which she brings into their shared bedroom before going to check on him in the kitchen.

Ana finds him in standing in the dark kitchen, the light streaming out of the open refrigerator as Vena pulls out a pitcher of juice. He startles when she flicks on the light switch.

“Hey there, banana. Thought you’d already be in bed by now.” he says in a low tone. “Is that my shirt?”

“It’s mine now.” she quips, keeping her voice low as well. “You hungry?” she asks as she makes her way next to him to fish out the plate of dinner she left him in the fridge.

“Starving.”

She ushers him onto a barstool and begins to heat up his dinner, all the while asking about his day, and telling him about hers in turn. She stays with him a while as he eats. Making jokes and talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Ana can see how stress can get to people in the most subtle ways. Vena’s hair has lost some of its luster and his skin is slightly more ashen than it’s supposed to be. She sees it in the way he holds himself, the tight line in his shoulders and tired eyes. If she can restore him, revive him in any way she can, she wants to try.

“You finish up. I’ll draw your bath in the meantime.” she says as Vena simply nods.

Ana makes her way into their shared bathroom and begins to fill up the bathtub with warm water. There are some candles lit and some lavender blossoms brought in to fill the air with the scent. She sets up her products on the edge of the tub. When the water is full enough, she treats the water with some of the bath salts and begins to pull the petals off the lilies, and tops everything off with some elfroot. It’s very aromatic atmosphere.

Vena steps in not long after and stops in his tracks when he sees the setup. He raises a questioning brow at his wife but she just smiles back.

“A little pampering never hurt anyone, vhenan. Is this alright?”

He blinks a few times and nods. Ana smiles.

“I’ll be right back to help you.” she tells him as she leaves the room to get a hair tie for herself and some combs and clips for Vena.

When she re-enters the bathroom, Vena is already settled into the waters, and she can see some of the tension bleed out of him as he sinks further into it. Ana pulls her hair up into a messy bun and comes to kneel beside the tub, just as he opens his eyes to look at her.

“Lets get started, shall we?” she says.

She has Vena scoot forward as she settles on the edge of the tub behind him, her legs hanging on either side of his body. He leans back and rests his head on her thigh. Ana begins running her hands through his hair, massaging his scalp a little. She giggles as he lets a few quiet moans escape. He turns his face to lay kisses on her skin, and it makes her breath catch. He looks back at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Vena, no.” she says. She is trying to pamper him and he is distracting her, but her firmness doesn’t translate well when she keeps giggling and he doesn’t stop right away either. He does stop, however.

Ana brings a comb through his hair to remove any knots that may have formed through the day before massaging oils into it. He closes his eyes again as a few more quiet moans escape him.

“You have really nice hair.” she tells him. He smiles.

“And you have nice legs.” he quips back and takes hold of her feet. Ana snorts.

She keeps at it a while longer before pulling his hair in a bun to wait for the oils to settle into the strands. Her hands move towards his shoulders and she spends some time running her hands along the tight muscles and undoing the knots that have formed along his upper back.

Vena leans his head back again and Ana can’t resist the urge enough to kiss his forehead. Then his nose. His cheeks are right there, so she lays a few more kisses on his cheeks until she is peppering his face with kisses. Then his lips. The kiss is a little awkward, but neither of them break it right away.

Vena breaks the kiss eventually to turn himself around and then he kisses her properly. Ana’s hands slide up his chest while he holds her waist. He smiles against her lips and she feels him gripping at her shirt. Before she can protest, he pulls her into the bath water with him.

_“Vena.”_ she scolds as he laughs. She pokes him and furrows her brows as he kisses her nose before resting his head against her shoulder. He lets out a long sigh and Ana undoes the bun to let his hair fall back down, thick, black strands of hair between her fingers.

Vena cradles Ana in his lap as she runs her fingers through his hair, washing away the oils. The position isn’t ideal for what she wants to do, but she makes it work as she begins to shampoo and condition his hair.

His body is lax as it leans against her. The bath water is starting to go cold and it is about time they dried off.

“Ma vhenan,” she says quietly. Vena hums in response. “It’s time we got to bed.” She feels him nod against her and his arms around her loosen enough for her to peel herself away from him. She stands on the bath mat as water drips from her shirt and grabs a towel to dry herself. She takes off her shirt and the wet underthings she had on and tosses them in the hamper.

When they are both sufficiently dry she leads him into their bed, forgoing clothing as she pulls the blankets up around them. Their limbs tangle as Vena rests his head against her chest and sighs. He is asleep almost instantly, soft snores escaping him and she kisses his temple.

Pampering won’t solve anyone’s problems, but she hopes what she has done will help.


	47. A-Peel-Ing

Elanna can be boisterous. Loud, even brash. Fun-loving, and playful. She doesn’t just keep pace with Vena; a lot of the time she runs circles around him. Darting between his own jokes and games, turning things upside-down, or taking them as-is.

But now she’s in his room. Flustered, bright red and stripped down to her underpants and shirt, and all the bravado has vanished enough that Vena wonders if she’s scared. If he did such a bad job of it, last time, that she doesn’t know what to do. She was nervous then, too. Back in the car. But it was different. They couldn’t really strip down, and there wasn’t a bed, and they just sort of… evolved from kisses, and touches. Vena knows Ana, but in some ways he feels like they’ve only managed to get pieces of one another. More than enough to tell what the whole picture  _is,_  but they’ve also never really stepped  back and  _looked._

Half her face is hidden by her hair.

“Hey,” Vena says. She looks over at him, and he grins. Waggles his eyebrows. “Want to watch me peel  _this_  banana?”

He points directly at his crotch. Then he reaches down, and starts unzipping his pants while improvising some sexy music, and bursts into laughter. Her hand coming up to cover her mouth as Vena sways his hips, and lets his pants slowly slide down while he provides ample side-effects. Lots of gyrations. He flips his hair, and puts his hands behind his head, and moves a bit closer as she covers her eyes, and ducks her head, and then looks back up at him.

“Seriously?” she asks him.

He shimmies his way closer, and slips his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. Snaps the elastic, and watches as she giggles, and then reaches out and presses a hand to his skin.

“Didn’t that hurt?” she asks him, blushing but less nervous, now, he thinks.

“Not really. These bad boys are soft and comfy,” he assures her. Then he reaches over, and cups her cheek. Her eyes widen a little, and she seems to realize where her hand is all at once, and pulls it back into her lap. But she tilts her head up towards him, too.

“You say the word and I’ll stop,” he promises. “Ana…”

“You too,” she says. Then she inches up, just a little, and he leans down. Their lips brush. She pulls back almost straight away, but only a little. Like she’s still unsure. Vena gives it a second, and then brushes one of her cheeks, and kisses the other. A spray of freckles and a hot blush beneath his lips. He trails them down towards the side of her neck.  _Slow and steady,_  he thinks. It’s not a hardship, by far. He slides a hand onto her hip, keeping his palm on top of the fabric of the shirt she’s still wearing. Brushing back and forth, working his way closer, until Elanna’s fingers are tangling in his hair, and she’s inching closer to him, still.

He pulls away from his kisses to look at her. She smells like one of her skin care deals. All natural and woods-y, and Vena thinks they should maybe be doing this in a forest next to a waterfall somewhere. Some place magical; some place more romantic. The candle he lit really aren’t cutting it. He thinks of a scene from one of Melarue’s films, where they’d played the part of an ancient elven diety; lounging in their woodland set, surrounded by spritely attendants. Everything draped in flowers and vines and sheer, silken fabrics.

Elanna belongs in Vena’s front seat, making off-colour jokes and singing along to her oldies. She belongs in a verdant field, and ancient shrine, a palace.

And she fits so well, in his arms.

“I love you, you know,” he says, seriously.

Elanna goes still. Her eyes widening, and her mouth falling slack in shock. It opens and closes a couple of times. Vena feels a rush of self-consciousness, more visceral than he ever might have expected. But… it’s true, anyway. He can’t even apologize for it. What else was could have happened, in the end? Between the two of them? Friends or lovers or whatever, he thinks, he would have loved her. Sometimes he thinks he must have starting falling the first time they spoke. Back in highschool, in those days that now just seem like a blur of stress and expectations and Ana, like some blessing that came and slowed everything down. Moments with her captured with a clarity that next to nothing else has.

Sunlight in her hair as they walk, and talk. As she laughs, and makes a face, and pokes his arm.  _Hold out your hand, I found this seashell and it’s the same colour as your car!_

It’s happening right now, too, he thinks. As the colour in her cheeks increases impossibly, and she looks at him, and manages to make an odd squeaking noise.

He smiles.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he assures her. “I just thought you should know. Cards all out on the table, right? I love you, Ana-bo-bana.”

Her eyes are bright.

“You are so  _stupid!”_  she blurts, all in a rush. Vena laughs, and she kisses him. Hasty and clumsy, because he’s laughing, and all, and she’s out-of-sorts, he thinks. Her mouth hits his bottom lip and chin, first. He tilts down, and chases after her before she can pull back. He’s a lot better at kissing, now. Practice makes perfect and all. He sweeps his tongue between her lips, and swallows a gasp. Then he breaks it off to pull her down to the mattress.

“I really am so stupid,” he confirms, and she smacks him, lightly. Hiding her face against his shoulder.

“No you’re not,” she says.

He laughs.

“You said it first,” he points out. Sliding his hands carefully, slowly up her thighs. He hums, and starts to sing. “What am I supposed to do, ‘cause when my heart’s on fire, burnin’ with desire, all I think about is you. I’m a fool in love with you, with you~”

Elanna buries her face against his neck, so hot he can feel it, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. Her breath hitching as his hands drift up to the edge of her shirt, and underneath the hem. Smooth, soft skin, and then the flimsy cotton of her underthings. Vena feels almost faint with want for her. Humming and singing a few more random lyrics, serenading, he supposes, as she presses a kiss to the side of his neck, and spreads her legs a little more easily around him.

“Vena,” she says.

“We okay?” he checks.

“…Yeah…” her voice is just a little bit shaky.  _Go slow,_  Vena reminds himself.

“Can I taste you?” he asks, as he slips a thumb underneath the side of her panties, and rubs it carefully back and forth. He wants to put his mouth everywhere on her, come to it. He remembers how soft her breasts are. The sound she’d made the first time he’d gotten his tongue on her nipple. It sends another bolt of wanting straight through him.

She makes another sound, at his question. Embarrassed?

He nibbles at her ear, while he waits for her answer. His impulse is to just do it, just go for it. He knows he  _can_  do it, now. Properly, and everything, and he wants to. He wants to hear her pant and moan and cry out in pleasure. But he went too fast the first time, he thinks. Tried to rush right into it, and even if he has a better idea of what he’s doing, everyone’s different.  _Ana’s_  different.

She’s so quiet, about this stuff.

“Do you really want to?” she finally asks.

He pulls back just enough to look at her face. Her brows furrowed, her expression uncertain. He can’t resist temptation enough to keep from pressing a kiss to her nose.

“I’ve always liked how bananas taste,” he says.

She closes her eyes.

“ _Vena!”_  she protests.

“Please,” he asks, and her breath hitches. He moves his mouth towards her ear again. “Please, Ana, let me?”

Her blunt nails scratch, just lightly, against the back of his shoulders.

“If… if you really want…”

“I do,” he promises.

Does he ever.

She takes in a steadying breath.

“Okay.”

He thanks her, fervently, which makes her breath hitch again, before he starts moving down. Laying a kiss at her collarbones, and then settling carefully between her legs. He rolls the hem of her shirt up, brushing his hands carefully over her hips. The skin between her thighs is  _so soft._  And there’s a little bow on the front of her panties. On a whim, he kisses it; keeping them in place as he moves his mouth downwards. He nuzzles her through the fabric, before he presses his mouth against it.

“O-oh!” Elanna gasps.

“Beautiful,” Vena murmurs, before he settles into it. teasing her through the fabric, licking in strong, steady strokes as it gradually soaks through, and her hips start to shift. He coaxes her legs up over his shoulders, which makes her face  _flame_  again, and she lets out the most endearing squeak before clapping a hand over her mouth. The angle’s a lot better, Vena thinks, smiling and taking his time. He licks and sucks and mouths at her, until the fabric is so slick that on one motion it just slips to one side and his tongue runs across warm, wet, salty and sensitive flesh directly.

Ana’s hips buck, and she gasps.

“So good,” Vena murmurs. “You taste so good.” It’s maybe not the  _taste_ , precisely, that’s wonderful. But under the circumstances he’s just going to go with the simple compliment, as he finally pulls her panties off, and then goes for it. Delving his tongue between her warm, wet folds, pressing his face more firmly between her legs, until her thighs are trembling and her hangs are gripping the sheets. He finds her clit, and spends a little while just working his tongue against it in long, circular strokes, until she tenses and presses her ankles into his back. Another gasp escaping her, as she gets noticeably wetter.

“Holy f-!” she cries.

Vena runs his hands up and down her thighs, and kisses her trembling flesh, before he starts up again. It’s all just so pleasantly warm and wet and soft, and her hitching breaths and gasps are more than ample encouragement. He sticks with in until his mouth starts to get tired, and he can’t really tell if she came a second time or not. Her shirt’s ridden up almost to her breasts. He pulls back, and wipes his chin, and lifts it further as he climbs up her. She stares at him, a little dazed, and then helps him pull it away. Her hair fluffs out as she comes free of it, and he stares at the soft, pale freckles on her breasts.

His mouth’s not  _too_  tired, he thinks, and lowers it to the right one. Her legs wrapping around him as he drags his tongue over the pebbling nub of her nipple, and laves at it. And then, well, it would just be rude to neglect the other one. All that soft, spotted skin, so perfect against his lips.

“You have the best boobs,” he murmurs.

A surprised laugh escapes her.

“Oh Creators,” she says. “…I’m glad you like them…?”

“I do,” he confirms, and teases one of her nipples between his fingers, as he rakes his tongue over the other. He devotes a good deal of soft, lazy attention to enjoying them, until Ana’s squirming a little beneath him, and rolling her hips, and he’s trying to be really, really patient, but he’s also starting to feel like he’s going to burst out of his briefs if he doesn’t do something about himself soon. He hums, to try and ground himself; but after a few minutes, his own hips start rocking, a little. Grinding against the bed more than Ana, really, given the angle and their size difference, until he moves up to kiss her. And then his crotch presses firmly against her backside, right as she shifts against him.

He gasps over her lips.

“Ana, Ana…”

“Vena,” she replies. Her hands pressing against his chest.

“You want to stop?”

“No.”

He sighs, and rocks his hips against her again. “I’ve got… should grab…” he swallows, hard, and pulls himself away enough to rifle through his bedside table. Condoms. Lubed condoms, and then more lube, too. All the lube. He grabs it, stalling a bit as he feels fingers press against the waistband of his briefs. Ana clears her throat, and tries to say something. And then she just kinda gives him a pointed tug, instead.

Vena’s heart flips over even as he feels a fresh rush of heat.

“This okay…?” he asks, and holds up the condom. Being articulate seems to have abandoned them both. Ana swallows, and gives him another tug, and nods.

“I love you,” he says, again. It just kind of flies out, as he slips off his briefs and presses close to her. Kisses her and caresses her a little more, before flicking open the bottle of lube. He warms some in his palm before working his fingers into her. She’s already so slick, he gets a finger into her without even really thinking about it. Her hands press at his chest, again, grasping a few stray strands of his hair, and he breathes every stray, sincere compliment he can think at her. Fingers working inside of her.

“Vena,” she whispers back, as he slides the condom onto himself.

“I love you, I love you… I’m so sorry, Ana…”

“What’re you talking about?” she asks, a little dazed and short of breath, her brows furrowing. She cups his cheek, and makes him look at her.  “You’re beautiful, Vena. You’re so beautiful.”

He swallows, his own breath caught. His slick fingers slipping towards her hips. He tries to take in everything about her. The part of her lips, the rise and fall of her chest as she pants, the dusting of freckles on her hipbones, the soft dip of her navel. He’s not small. He’s won his fair share of locker room contests, so to speak. But Ana  _is,_  and so he goes careful.

Careful, slow, as he lines himself up with her. Sinking into her sweet heat, until she tightens her grip on him and gives a thrust of her hips that seems to surprise them both, and finishes taking him in. Then she tips her head back and sucks in a sharp breath.

Vena stills. Waiting. He moves his mouth to her neck, and sweeps his arms around her. Holding her, waiting, waiting…

“Oh,” she says. “You’re inside me.”

He feels a rush of warmth. A different kind; more fondness a little bit of amusement than anything.

“Banana split,” he murmurs.

She pokes him.

“That sounds painful. This feels…” her throat bobs as she swallows. “Not.”

“Good?” he checks.

“Good,” she confirms. “Very… very… oh.” She bites her lip as he moves, tentatively. Slipping her hands up towards his neck, and pulling him down with just the lightest touch, to kiss her again. It feels almost dreamlike, Vena decides. Except his dreams would probably have made some kind of suitably verdant oasis for her.

He moves again, and she meets his motions with a shallow little move of her own hips.

“Vena,” she calls.

“I’ve got you,” he tells her. Moving with ease, but still, he goes slow. It’s a slow kind of a time. Intimate in a way that his hook-ups never had been; not searing, but still, intense. Every brush of a touch feels heightened. Elanna’s fingers pressing against him. Her legs around him. Her breath, puffing from flushed lips, eyes fixed on his face until he thrusts into her and she arches back and bites her lip and clenches around him.

Vena moves a few more times. Deliberate, savouring, as she pants and holds onto him and he comes in a slow, low breaking. Slumping against her a bit more heavily than he means to. But she just wraps her arms around him, and holds him close.

“Ana,” he sighs.

“I’ve got you,” she tells him, softly.

Oh.

Vena buries his face against her hair, and snuggles her close.

Perfect.


	48. Virevas is Born

Late pregnancy, Uthvir decides, is the worst.

They are lying in bed, listening to Thenvunin snore, as their back persistently aches. It’s a little after ten o’clock, and they are exhausted, and very, very awake.

_Where’s Kel?_

Kel is in her room. Where she was half an hour ago, an era otherwise known as ‘the last time you asked this exact question’.

_Are we sure, though? Is she still there? What if she got up and tried to sneak out of the house?_

There is literally no reason she would do that.

_The house is bigger than the apartment. We might not hear it if she did._

There are wards. Uthvir made the wards. Personally. They’ll know if anyone opens any of the doors or windows to get in or out of the house. That’s one of the main features they included, in all of them.

_Was it really all of them? What about the garage door?_

The garage door is fine.

_What if Kel goes out the garage door and runs into traffic?_

Why would she do that? Even if the wards weren’t securely in place – which they are, yes, even on the garage door – their daughter is in bed. Asleep. Like a normal, relatively well-behaved child. Which is precisely what she is.

_Children get weird ideas. Do strange things._

The baby moves, and blessedly, Fear goes quiet for a few seconds. The pressure inside of them is such a strange sensation. Sometimes it conjures up unwelcome mental images of chest-burster aliens trying to leap out of their stomach, but usually, it’s just… reassuring. Their little guest is moving, is alive. Is possibly irritated that Uthvir’s awake, even though they aren’t moving and there’s no reason why their thoughts should be keeping the baby awake.

Possibly no reason.

_If the baby doesn’t get enough sleep then its brain won’t develop properly._

They let out a heavy breath, and try to roll over. Thenvunin stops snoring, and after a few moments they have to lean up and check to make sure he’s still breathing. They lean in closer, and he sighs, and rolls towards them. One of his arms wrapping around them as he murmurs something with sleep-ridden incoherence. Definitely still breathing and totally fine, then. Uthvir takes in a long breath of their own, and closes their eyes, and tries to steady their own breaths.

_What if someone breaks in through the garage door?_

The. Garage. Door. Is.  _Warded._

_Is it, though?_

Uthvir draws a hand down the side of their face. They are not getting up again. They have gotten up  _four times,_  and only twice of those times was to pee. Their feet hurt, their back hurts, the baby needs to rest, Kel is fine and the garage door is fine. They are not getting up to check.

_Kel’s room is closer to the garage. If anyone breaks in, they’ll reach her first._

They let out an internal curse, and move Thenvunin’s arm. He murmurs again over being displaced as they make their way out of the bed, sliding down through the bottom because their own side is pressed flush against the wall. They kick aside some of the pillow nest in order to get free, and grab the bed post, and heft themselves onto their aching feet again. Ignoring Fear’s commentary on how this is probably bad for the baby’s resting habits as they make their way over to the door, and out into the hall.

They check Kel’s room, as they go past it.

Their daughter is a little lump in the middle of her bed, her breaths just barely audible. Her window’s secure; her closet is closed. They check the bulb in her nightlight before heading back out into the hall, and down towards the garage. Which is, of course, also secure. Or at least, the door to it is. There could very well be a hoard of heavily armed thugs directly on the other side – which Fear helpfully points out – but they won’t be getting in. Not unless they brought a blood mage, and even then, Uthvir’s going to be warned about it as soon as the wards start coming down.

The baby moves again, and they pause. Leaning against the wall to the garage door, as they press a hand to their stomach. Now they’ve gone and disturbed the poor thing even worse by moving around, and for no good reason.

They let out a breath, and then shift a little, feeling fresh pressure on their bladder.

“That’s not a punching bag, kid,” they mutter, rubbing at the side of their stomach in a way that usually gets their little guest to move off. It works this time, too, but the damage is done, and with another long-suffering breath, they make their way towards the bathroom.

_Most dangerous room in the house, statistically._

Yes. Thank you.

Pregnancy, as it happens, seems to take a sincere toll on their ability to  _ignore_  certain impulses. Which includes impulses that are not entirely their own. And as things have progressed, Fear has been increasingly reluctant to withdraw of its own accord. Possibly because Uthvir’s own fears have been feeding into it to an exceptional degree. Or maybe it does, in fact, think it’s being helpful.

_Saved our life five times this week alone._

No. No, because the almond cakes were not, in fact, filled with cleverly disguised arsenic, so Uthvir just looked  _like a crazy person._

_Some of them could have been. There are still some in the fridge. What if Kel or Thenvunin eats one and dies?_

Fucking…!

Fine. Fine, they think. They’re already up, they’re not doing this song and dance again. They head for the bathroom, and then detour into the kitchen, wincing at the cold tiles against their feet – although it almost feels nice, too – and opening up the fridge.

Juice, milk, water filter jug, leftover casserole, dumplings for tomorrow, full crispers, pudding cups… no almond cake. They move the casserole just to double-check, and then give the freezer a once-over, but no, the cake is gone. Their heart sinks, even as they know it’s ridiculous. The cake was never poisoned; if anyone ate it, they’re fine. But Fear is hissing about what if it was poisoned but with something slower-acting than arsenic, they didn’t make it,  _how can they know,_  and Uthvir is tired and they just want to  _sleep_  and they’re probably turning their baby into a neurotic mess by proxy but they can’t get it to just stop.

They go back to their room, and nudge Thenvunin awake.

“Babe,” they say. “What happened to the last almond cakes?”

Thenvunin sucks in a deep breath, and blinks up at them in the dark.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, sitting up a little. “You got upset about them the other day, so I threw them out. What time is it? I can go get you cake…”

Uthvir stares at him.

…Oh.

Their chest clenches, and they reach for him. Brushing their hand across his face, moving a few strands of hair out of the way. What did they ever do to deserve him? Their throat closes, and they almost swear as they feel their eyes itch.

“Uthvir?” he asks.

“Don’t go anywhere. Go back to sleep,” they say, swallowing thickly.

“Is everything alright?” he asks.

“Everything is perfect,” they assure him. Kel is fine. The house is safe. The cakes are gone. Fear finally, begrudgingly, shuts up again, and Thenvunin defies their instructions to sit up and help them climb back into bed instead. Fluffing pillows and straightening blankets, until they’re settled with a cushion between their knees and their husband’s chest against their back, one of his hands resting, warm, against their stomach.

They close their eyes, and let out a long, deep sigh, and finally fall asleep.

They wake up a few hours later.

The room is still dark. Thenvunin is snoring at their back, now, and his arm’s probably going numb, given the way it’s wedged underneath them. They move a little, and feel a burning sensation in their lower abdomen. A short gasp escapes them, and they still. Pressing their own hand to their stomach, and waiting. What was that? Is something wrong with the baby? For a moment they feel a rush of pure fear, until their brain finishes waking up, and they mentally review the description of labour pains.

Burning’s… not uncommon.

And that was definitely too low down to be heartburn again.

The baby kicks, and they wince as the shot goes straight up their ribs. Okay, well, contractions are usually hours apart, so they should probably wait and see if that happens again.

_Unless something is going horribly wrong._

Dammit.

Labour is terrifying, they are going to be  _terrified._

They suck in several deep breaths, and let them out through their nose. One after the other, as they do their best to get ahold of themselves. Thenvunin is still sleeping. It actually helps, in fact. They can hear the rhythm of his snores, and the comfort of the bed, and it’s normal. It’s normal. Everything is fine, this is probably just what’s supposed to happen, and then once it happens their pregnancy will be done and they’ll have their baby and that thought is so profoundly relieving that it helps quite a bit with Fear’s long, long list of everything can still go wrong from here on into eternity.

By the time the light through the windows is turning grey, they’ve felt the same sensation again. Examining it keenly, awake and paying attention, now, as the baby moves and their muscles burn. Like menstrual cramps gearing up from a marathon run, they think. They wait for the sensation to pass, and then reach for Thenvunin’s hand, and squeeze it.

He shifts, and pats them, kissing the back of their head.

They clear their throat.

“Thenvunin,” they say. “I know it’s early, but you’ll have to call Aelynthi. I’m going into labour, and it’ll probably be easiest if he and Victory can watch Kel for us. She and Olwyn both have dance lessons with Nithroel today. I’d prefer it if he came and got her. If he’s up for it he should probably drop us off at the hospital, too, you’ll probably drive at four miles per hour if you do it, and I know you won’t let  _me_ drive us there.”

There’s a pause.

“You – you’re…”

“Going into labour, yes. I’m relatively sure,” Uthvir repeats. They feel oddly calm. They’ve probably done that thing where they’ve transcended the normal boundaries of fear and settled a heightened state of numb pragmatism.

Good.

They can work with that.

“Okay. Okay. Everything is going to be okay,” Thenvunin says, pressing a hand to their stomach and then snatching it back like he’s worried it might burn them. “I’m just going to – I’ll get the, the-“

“Call Aelynthi,” Uthvir repeats, firmly, and they start to sit up.

“Be careful!” Thenvunin fusses. “Maybe you should stay lying down? Don’t make any sudden moves. I’ll call the doctor-“

“Thenvunin,” they say, grasping his arm and making him look them in the eye. “Call Aelynthi. Victory will also work, if he’s not available for some reason. Take several deep breaths if you need to, labour can last for  _days,_  my water hasn’t broken and it could also be a false alarm.”

“Right. Yes. Um, okay, but stay in the bed,” Thenvunin instructs.

They probably should have gotten the bags ready before they told him, they think, as he scrambles out of the nest of blankets and cushions and goes and gets his phone. Thankfully, Aelynthi is fluent in ‘panicking Thenvunin’, and the call doesn’t take very long. Uthvir sits up, climbing carefully out of the bed. Their feet still hurt, but standing actually feels better, overall. Less pressure on their spine. They go and get their phone, and call their midwife – Serahlin’s recommendation, and a good one, in fact – and she asks them a few questions, and while they’re talking, Uthvir’s water decides to break.

They mention that.

“You might have just peed yourself, too, but I’ll be over in half an hour,” she informs them, calmly.

“We’ll probably head to the hospital,” they say, and confirm which one, opting to meet up there. Aelynthi arrives a short fifteen minutes later, with a jacket thrown over his pyjama shirt and a pair of yoga pants on, and Uthvir lets him take over ‘calming down Thenvunin’ duties briefly, while they go and wake up Kel.

“Morning, kiddo,” they say. “You’re going to have to spend the day over at Olwyn’s. I might be going into labour.”

Kel blinks, and then shoots bolt upright.

“What?! Does it hurt?” she asks. “Can I help? I can go to the hospital with you, I’ll get my coat…”

Uthvir chuckles as their daughter starts immediately scrambling out of bed.

“No, no, it’s going to take a while before we’re even sure. It’ll be boring, baby, and your papae’s going to fuss a lot. We’ll send for you when your sibling comes, I promise,” they assure her. She frowns at them, getting that stubborn set to her face, and it’s probably a good thing she’s ten and not twenty or else they suspect they’d never be able to get her to go with her uncle.

As it stands she practically glues herself to their side as soon as she finishes throwing on the first set of clothes she can find. And she does come with them to the hospital, in the end, even if it’s just briefly. Aelynthi takes them there first, at Thenvunin’s insistence. Driving calmly, as Uthvir sits in the back with their husband, and Kel rides up front and periodically twists backwards in her seat, frowning and fretting almost as much as Thenvunin, who keeps petting them awkwardly until they finally just take his hand in theirs and get him to hold  _still._

The next contraction is actually quite painful, though. They grit their teeth, wondering if that’s normal or if it’s a bad sign as the burning sensation spreads, and the baby kicks, and they can’t actually tell which feels worse right then. Their grip on Thenvunin’s hand tightens, and he goes quiet, his brow furrowing as they stare rigidly ahead at the stoplight.

Kel turns around and looks at them.

“Does it hurt?” she asks again, quietly. “People on television always scream when they’re having babies.”

Uthvir catches her eye, and lets out a long breath.

“It hurts,” they confirm. The contraction’s easing up again by then, though.

“Sit forward in your chair, Kel,” Aelynthi instructs, as he starts driving again. “It’s all okay. Labour’s tough, but so is your nanae.”

“That’s true,” Thenvunin confirms. “Sit properly, da’vhenan, it’s not safe otherwise. Everything’s fine, I’ve got them. I’m right here, and I won’t let anything bad happen.”

Not that he could stop many of the worse possibilities, Uthvir thinks. But the reassurance works on Kel, who finally settles down in front, and damn if it doesn’t work on them a little bit, too, as they lean into his side and let out a long breath, and try to focus on the sounds of traffic, and the feel of Thenvunin’s hand in theirs, and the baby inside of them.  _Don’t panic._

It’s not until they’re actually  _in_  the hospital, not until they’ve managed to convince Kel to go with Aelynthi, and been briefly assessed and taken to a waiting room, that they suddenly think of Kel’s own birth. The birth they weren’t there for; the story that haunts them, sometimes. Of the mage who killed her lover and nearly, ostensibly, her child, because they gave her the wrong medicine.

They know that’s not liable to happen here, in one of the best hospitals in Arlathan; a city run by elven mages.

But the thought makes their heart stall. Makes their head spin, knocking them out of their equilibrium, hard, and they have to focus in order to keep from panicking. The next contraction hits them like a truck, and they freeze, as it feels like the hospital’s walls are crushing in on them and Fear surges up and they have to focus every ounce of effort left in them to keep from just nonsensically  _running._

They do not like the hospital. There are too many variables, too many people they don’t know, too many spaces they can’t keep track of.

“Something’s wrong,” Thenvunin notes, and they realize they’re clutching his hand too hard, now.

_We could hurt him._

“You have to go,” they decide, letting go of him and looking up at him instead. The room they’re in is all soft colours and flimsy walls, sterile and hospital-smelling, and they absolutely do not want him to go but they keep thinking of mages having babies and killing the men they love, and their fingers clench against his shirt. They’re an abomination. A  _fear_ abomination, and they are  _afraid,_  and even if no one gives them the wrong drug they don’t know what could happen, they could lash out, they could lose control, they don’t know and if anything happens to them then at the very least, it doesn’t need to happen to Thenvunin, too.

“Go? Go do what?” Thenvunin asks, baffled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Uthvir swallows, their mind racing. Of course he won’t go. Of course not, he’s  _Thenvunin,_  he loves them, he won’t leave them while they’re in labour. But what can they do? Fear is a mess, their body is going through an aggressive upheaval, their baby is coming and they don’t know if they have the reserves to control themselves. They’re an abomination, and…

…And, unlike some unluckier types, they’re not alone.

“I need you to go and call Selene,” they decide.

Thenvunin blinks.

“Selene? What for?” he wonders.

“To help. In case my magic – in case things go awry,” they reason. “She’s the most powerful mage we know.”

“I think Dirthamen is a little better at containing-“

“Then call him, too!” Uthvir snaps, impatiently. “It’s not as if they aren’t affiliated! Just get Selene to come.” Melarue might be an idea as well, they’ve been hovering around this pregnancy a bit, but last week they had to fly out for some contractual obligation or other and Uthvir’s not even sure if they’re back in Arlathan or not. Thenvunin has to go outside to get better cell reception, and Uthvir feels at nauseating mixture of dread and relief when he’s out of sight. It’s unreasonably intense, they think. Nothing exceptional has even  _happened_  so far, it’s just been burning cramps and a drive to the hospital. They’ve got hours left to go, probably. But it’s like they’ve been knocked into the wind, and every minute that crawls by is now an excruciating test of their restraint.

_Run. Get out. This place is evil. It’s not safe. There are sick people here, there are strange people here, it’s not secure, we’re not in control…_

They pace, trying to let the movement distract them, trying to focus on what is actually happening and not the myriad of things that  _could_  happen. When Thenvunin comes back into the room they nearly bite his head off trying to get him to leave again, even though they don’t want him to. It makes him jittery and it makes them feel even worse, and then the nurse comes by to check on them and they freeze and they don’t want this, they don’t like this, they barely even know their  _midwife –_  who hasn’t even shown up yet – and they want to go find somewhere safe, and alone, and not alone. They don’t even know, they just want it done with. They just want their baby to be alright and everyone else to be alright and why,  _why_ can’t it just be  _simple…_

“You need to calm down. Everything’s going fine, this is all perfectly normal,” the nurse assures them.

“I  _know,”_  they snarl, and he backs off as if they might bite him.

Their midwife finally arrives, then, and doesn’t fare much better. She tries to get Uthvir to do breathing exercises, and in their defense they do make an effort at that, but they also do not wholly trust her or want her in the room, and in the end she seems to pick up on it and leaves of her own accord. Giving some parting advice to Thenvunin before offering to confer with their doctor.

Uthvir keeps pacing.

“Perhaps you should lie down,” Thenvunin suggests.

“No,” they insist. “You need to leave the room, you – I don’t know how I’m going to react to this, you should go and stay with Kel instead.”

Thenvunin balks, and they brace themselves for another round of arguing.

But then his expression shifts, and realization seems to click into place. And he walks over to them. Too close, much too close, they could lash out and hit him without a second thought, but when they close a hand in his shirt they don’t quite push him away; and he presses close to them, hugging them around the side, even as their skin itches with discomfort and they feel like part of them is trying to crawl right out of it, to escape the sheer unpleasantness of their too-heavy body and its pains.

“It’s alright,” he says. “You haven’t lost command of your senses, Uthvir, and you’re not going to. You decided no drugs, remember? No drugs, and I’ll be right here, I’ll make sure no one does anything to you without your say-so. You don’t have to worry about any of that, you just focus on having the baby. That’s enough for anyone to have to manage. Leave the rest of it to me – trust me.”

Thenvunin’s voice is very steady, very resolute. Like he’s trying to project his assuredness as far as he can.

It works… fairly well.

Uthvir pushes him off a little – gently – but they feel less like they might fly off the handle at any moment. They  _wish_  they could just focus on having the baby, they’re  _trying_  to, but having Thenvunin assure them that he’ll look after it all helps. They do trust him. He’s not incapable, he can and will intervene if he thinks something is going wrong, he’ll notice if they start to go out of their head or misuse their magic in ways that aren’t appropriate to the situation.

It doesn’t resolve their internal mess completely.

But by the time Selene arrives, they can at least breathe evenly and hold still for more than a minute.

Uthvir sends Thenvunin to get them ice chips when Selene gets there, and it only takes them ten minutes to actually get him to leave the room.

When he does, Selene’s aura does a little snap and flare, and they realize that their own is practically crawling around the room. For a moment it strikes them that this was a terrible idea. Des is an asshole, they’re in physically questionable condition, and Fear is already riding high in them.

But then Selene lets out a breath and raises her hands in a placating gesture.

“Wow. Okay,” she says.

“This could be going better,” Uthvir allows.

“Yeah, no, I picked up on that,” she agrees. “You know you’re giving half the building a wicked case of the heebie-jeebies, right? I mean, not that they know it’s  _you_ , but it’s definitely going around.”

“Shut up, Des!” they snap.

“Stop trying to  _take over,_  Fear,” Selene counters, gesturing at the ebb and flow of dysfunctional magic pressing at the boundaries of the room. “Listen. Look. This event is not about you. I mean, you as in Fear, not you as in Uthvir. You  _want_  this baby. You want to have this baby. You want this pregnancy to be over. You did the right thing calling me, I can help with this. There’s a lot to work with here.”

They let out a breath, torn between their aggressive and generalized mistrust, and their better judgement.

“You’re still struggling with control,” they mention.

Selene levels a look at them.

“We’re miles ahead of you two  _right now_ ,” she points out. Which… is true. And then her expression goes  _soft,_  which is probably a testament to how out-of-sorts Uthvir probably seems, because she’s looking at them the way she looks at one of the children when they’re unreasonably frightened of monsters in their closets or sharks in their swimming pool, and they wish they could call it inappropriate but given the situation, it’s possibly not.

“This is about what you want,” she says, firmly, and gestures. And some of the scuttling, dark shadows in the room ignite, twisting in a way that trembles through their bones. That makes them want to hide, want to fight, for approximately half a millisecond, before everything just seems  _brighter_  and the oppressive weight of their fears seems more fairly matched against their sensibility and comprehension.

They let out a breath.

Thenvuning gets back, then, and the next contraction is easier. They manage to sit down for a while, as Selene pleasantly informs their husband that she’s going to be texting everyone to keep them up to date on the situation, and doesn’t actually need to be anywhere for a few hours yet. Dirthamen’s at work, she divulges, and Ana wants to know if she should head over and if so, whether or not there’s anything she can bring that Uthvir and Thenvunin might have forgotten.

Uthvir lets Thenvunin field that round of questions, as they focus on concealing their reactions to Des and Fear’s activities in the Fade, as the two basically conflict and  _in_ conflicting, manage to keep Fear from trying to seize control over the situation again. They still want to run, but it’s not overwhelming, now. They don’t have to divide their attention between labour and self-control, don’t have to focus on their body  _and_  Fear  _and_  the baby  _and_  Thenvunin. They talk on the phone with Kel, they can tolerate the nurse coming back into the room, they can put up with the doctor actually touching them. They can focus on handling the pain.

They can focus on wanting this baby.

And they  _do_  want this baby.

So much.

By the time Selene deems it suitable for her to leave, they’re feeling almost high on it. That should be alarming, they think, all things considered. But it helps. Eventually their contractions get closer together. Ana comes, bearing changes of clothes from their house and assurances that Adannar has gone over there to make sure everything gets locked up and their housekeeper knows what’s happening, and that the nursery is still all in order.  

And in the end, the labour lasts about six hours, culminating in a drug-free Des-induced haze, and pain, and Fear getting very tinny and far away when Melarue shows up out of the ether in the eleventh hour. Thenvunin keeps to his word and remains utterly stalwart and supportive and dependable until the baby has come and Uthvir has failed to murder anyone in the process, and only then does he faint.

To his credit, he does it while he’s in the process of falling into a chair, so, at least no one has to try and get him up off the floor.

The doctor is sharp enough to hand Uthvir the baby at the soonest available opportunity. A tiny, crying, wrinkled red thing covered in afterbirth, with good lungs and perfectly formed little fists and feet. Seven and a half pounds, which is apparently big, even though this new little person who has been growing inside of them for months seems so very small.

_She_ , they think. They’ll have to pick something, and maybe it’s just because they’ve already got one daughter and that keeps things simple, but they’re fairly certain she’s a girl. Her eyes are bright, newborn blue, and she’s already got some hair on her head. Uthvir feels like they’ve just been turned inside-out, but it’s over, now. They’ve got her. They didn’t lose their senses and they’re not going to; they’re exhausted but they can handle things now, they think.

They help clean and swaddle their baby, biting back the urge to snap at anyone who reaches for her. And then when Thenvunin finally regains consciousness, they deposit her into his arms, and lean back, just sag.

If they want a third kid at any point in their lives, they decide, they’re adopting again.

But Thenvunin looks in astonishment down at the little baby in his arms, holding her so carefully, and they can’t exactly claim to have any regrets about this situation, either.

“Do you still want to use magical healing, or…?” the doctor asks, breaking part of the moment.

Uthvir looks them in the eye, and snorts.

“I’m not doing this the long way. The sooner I’m back to normal the better.”

They’re going to be able to change shape again. They’re going to be able to actually fit in their own skin again, with just themselves and their  _usual_  company, while their new baby gets to discover the world and fit in her  _own_  skin, too.

Finally.

The doctor nods, and an assistant healer comes in. Uthvir keeps a hold of their restraint in order to submit to their inspection easily enough, and the spellcasting doesn’t take long. Thenvunin stays close, with the baby. The pain eases as the magic does the work to help, not quite restoring them but settling them firmly along that path. It will still be a while, they know, before they can shapeshift again, or do anything terribly strenuous. But it feels much, much better, much closer to how they should be, and when it’s finished they are heavy and exhausted and they want to go home.

They want their babies and their husband and their safe, familiar walls.

There’s still a considerable amount to do before they can go home, however. Despite being their second baby, it’s been Uthvir’s first pregnancy, and hospital regulations have them go through a few tests and a mandatory basic ‘newborn care’ discussion. Thenvunin calls Aelynthi, and he brings Kel, and Victory and Olwyn, too, as it happens. Uthvir holds the new baby while the girls come over to see them. Kel casting an assessing gaze over them – and, surprisingly, Olwyn doing much the same.

It doesn’t take long for both girls to zero in on the new baby, however.

“Hi,” Kel says, wide-eyed and quiet, as Uthvir tilts a little so she can see. The baby’s sleeping, now, eyes shut and only her mouth moving every so often. Kel brushes her fingers over the little cap on of the nurses put onto her head, careful and curious, and gently feels the little tips of her sister’s ears. The moment feels very precious, and small, and Uthvir’s breath stills as the baby’s eyes blink open.

“You look like a tomato,” Kel tells her, softly.

They snort.

Olwyn leans over on the other side of their bed, and after a few minutes, they shift so that she can get a better look, too. Her eyes go huge, and she glances at Uthvir. Her hands are fixed behind her back. Like she’s holding them there, and Uthvir’s spent the past few hours wrestling with their own fears enough to recognize a kindred one in her.  _I’m magic. I’m dangerous. I could hurt the baby._

_I don’t want to hurt the baby._

“What do you think, kiddo? Think she’s going to be a mage like us, or will she take more after Kel and her Papae?”

Olwyn blinks, and then looks at the baby again. Some of the tension in her shoulders eases, and she glances at Kel, and Thenvunin and Aelynthi, before venturing a hand towards the baby’s blankets and peering at her sleepy little face.

“I don’t know how to tell,” she admits.

“Neither do I. I suppose it doesn’t make much difference to us either way, does it?” Uthvir muses.

They’re not wholly surprised when her response is to tear up.

They’re a  _little_  surprised when their own response is to shift an arm free, and lean over, and kiss her forehead. But she’s just a little thing, in the end. Like their own babies. They feel awash in parental affections, and when Olwyn ducks her head to wipe her eyes on her sleeve, they get Kel to climb up onto the bed with them. Thenvunin has to go and get the car from home, with the special seat for their newborn, so Aelynthi takes him, and the girls stay with Uthvir; soon enough chattering on about names and asking questions about labour.

Uthvir doesn’t get graphic, but they’re disinclined to sugar-coat the experience, either. Kel and Olwyn both might decide to have babies of their own someday, after all. Or their partners might. They should know what they’re in for.

And then the baby starts crying, and needs feeding.

Uthvir doesn’t plan to nurse long, but some of the research they’d read had made a compelling case for doing it at least a few times. And since they can’t exactly change their shape right now anyway, they take the opportunity to show the girls how it’s done. Kel’s already seen it before, of course, but they’re not sure if Olwyn has or not. Both of them watch the process curiously either way, as they go through the motions the midwife showed them to get the baby to latch on.

It’s… uncomfortable, they decide. The sensation itself feels odd, and finding an easy position for it with their still-healing body is an unexpected challenge. But it’s brief, at least. Newborn stomachs are small, Uthvir knows. They keep her close, and she seems to like being against their skin even if she’s not feeding, while Kel settles up against them and Olwyn moves around to see everything from different angles.

Before long, though, Uthvir is starting to feel like they’re running on fumes. Melarue makes a reappearance, then, from wherever they had wandered off to, taking the girls to go and get some snacks from the vending machine, approximately two seconds before a nurse arrives to help settle the newborn into the little crib in the room.

A crib that is too far away for Uthvir’s liking. But they struggle to articulate that, caught in a frustrating limbo of needing to sleep but not feeling  _nearly_  safe enough to actually do so. Thenvunin and Aelynthi are still gone, and they need to watch the baby, there’s no one else to stand guard and make sure nothing happens. The crib is too far away. The room is too unfamiliar.

And then Kel comes back. Carrying a water bottle that she shoves into one of her short pockets, before she reaches over and starts fluffing Uthvir’s pillow, the way Thenvunin usually does. She pats their shoulder and kisses their cheek.

“Go to sleep, Nanae. I’ll look after stuff,” she says.

Later on, of course, they will marvel at their ability at the time to be reassured by the presence of a  _ten-year-old._  But in the moment, they are tired enough and trust their daughter enough that it works. They close their eyes and drift off, and when they wake up, Melarue is holding their baby, and Thenvunin is helping them into a loose set of clothes.

They take the baby back to feed her again, bleary and still exhausted, and feel surprisingly calm with letting Melarue carry her to the car, while Thenvunin carries  _them_  to the car, and Kel walks alongside her grandnanae and her sister with the air of someone who has appointed herself bodyguard of the whole contingent. Aelynthi, Victory, and Olwyn seem to have gone home.

The calm persists, despite all odds against it, even as Thenvunin and Melarue secure their newborn and Uthvir settles into the back with her, and Kel, and Melarue, to their mild surprise, gets behind the steering wheel. There’s something suspicious about their calm, they think. Something fuzzy around the edges, that makes them feel like there’s something large and warm wrapped all around them. Like the coils of a massive serpent, maybe. Melarue catches their eye in the rearview mirror, and winks, and they decide not to worry about it. Fear is being quiet, and they can’t even see any reason to change that arrangement when it means they can get home without having to wrestle a thousand internal battles over traffic safety and tiny, tiny babies.

The car still goes pretty slow, though.

When they get home, the lights are all on, and the house looks warm and welcoming in the evening light. They let Thenvunin take the baby, this time, while Kel insists on helping them, and Melarue goes ahead and opens all the door, and declares that they’ll be getting food and staying in the guest wing. They take Kel with them, then, to go and ‘check the rooms’. The nursery is ready, of course. They pass by the open door to it, and look back, noting that someone has added a new stuffed caterpillar to the top of the dresser, and a fresh box of wet wipes and diapers are on the change table, along with an envelope. They pick it up, before following Thenvunin to their own room. It’ll probably be a while before the baby is actually sleeping in the nursery.

The letter has Serahlin’s elegant script on the back.

They put it aside for a few minutes, as the baby needs to eat again – tiny stomachs mean more frequent meals, it seems, rather than less food – and Thenvunin fusses over them. Someone has, to their great appreciation, added the most comfortable rocking chair they’ve ever sat in to the bedroom, and put fresh sheets into the co-bedding attachment for the baby.

After eating again, their newborn obligingly decides she’s going to sleep some more. Uthvir doesn’t really feel like relinquishing her, so they get Thenvunin to open the envelope for them.

“It’s from Serahlin and Adannar,” he supplies, unsurprisingly. “Best wishes, and the rocking chair is a gift. It’s Dalish, apparently. They were going to give it to us at the baby shower but it wasn’t finished in time. And they’ve sent the usual assurances that we can call on them if we need anything.”

They nod, feeling all warm and fuzzy and full of all kinds of notions of attachment, still, as Thenvunin sets the letter aside in case they want to read it themselves later. The baby is a warm, soft, steadily breathing little weight in their arms, and the rocking chair is somehow the right shape and cushioning that their recently-evicted body doesn’t feel absolutely heinous right now, and actually they think they just want to take a nap in it. But maybe not while they’re holding the baby, because they could drop her.

But they don’t want to stop holding her.

A conundrum.

Letting Thenvunin hold her is the next best thing, though, so after a few minutes they relinquish her to their beautiful, beloved, still slightly-dazed husband. Who cries on her a bit, but she’s sleeping so she doesn’t even notice. Uthvir watches them, feeling their magic in the wards on the house, the familiar thrum of things being safe and secure as they can be, until their eyelids grow heavy again, and they’re adrift in unconsciousness once more.

When they finally wake up again – and it actually  _feels_  like waking up this time, not just cresting on a brief wave of consciousness – Thenvunin is in the bed, with the baby. Kel is on the floor next to the chair, quietly doing something on her phone, and Melarue is lowering a tray in front of them.

“You should eat,” Aelynthi’s nanae informs them.

They honestly can’t tell if they’re ravenous or if they’d rather never eat again, but the latter isn’t really a sustainable option, so they figure eating is a better idea. Melarue’s given them turmeric milk and oatmeal, which is not precisely appetizing, but it goes down easily and doesn’t make them want to vomit. Kel glances up at them, assessing, and then turns back to her phone.

“Are Kass and Ash coming to stay, too?” she wonders.

Melarue pauses, and then glances at Uthvir. “We wouldn’t want to overcrowd the house,” they say, though the real question seems more… knowing, than that. Uthvir has not had many occasions to meet with Melarue’s new paramour, or her daughter. Though the girl has played with Olwyn and Kel on several occasions, now.

They’re feeling more clear-headed. In all senses, really. The fuzzy feeling of disconnect is giving way, but Fear is no longer shrieking and demanding in its presence, either. They are filled with deep and gnawing aches, and they’re  _barely_  comfortable with Melarue seeing them like this. But…

“Perhaps in a few days,” they suggest. “If you plan on staying that long?”

Melarue glances to where Thenvunin and the baby are resting, and their expression softens.

“I would like to, yes,” they agree.

“That’s good,” Kel decides. “Ash can help me patrol. And she’s a mage, so she can see the wards, too.”

Uthvir glances down at her.

“You don’t have to patrol, baby. We’re not under siege,” they assure her, wondering if they’ve really been that bad, that their daughter is actively setting up  _guard duty._  Not that she’s never done it  before, but usually it’s more of a joke. Her countenance is rather serious for setting up a game of play-pretend.

She smiles at them.

“I know, Nanae,” she says, reaching up to pat their knee. “Don’t worry about a thing. You just have to focus on feeling better.”

They feel a rush of mingled fondness and amusement as they realize she’s reassuring them. In her papae’s ‘of  _course_  there’s nothing to worry about’ fashion of things, no less. They lower a hand and brush it over her head, as Melarue disguises their grin behind their hand.

“No patrols after bedtime,” they settle on, knowing full well that trying to prohibit it will just make her sneakier. They don’t want her scurrying out of her room in the dead of night. They can already feel Fear going ‘see?!  _See???’_

Kel opens her mouth to reply, and cuts off abruptly as the baby makes a sound.

All three of them turn to look.

“I’ll get her,” Melarue says, softly, and heads over to the side of the bed. They straighten the blanket on Thenvunin, before scooping up Uthvir’s newborn, and bringing her over. Clucking their tongue at her, as her brief noise suddenly transforms into full-blown wails, and Thenvunin sits bolt upright, and the peace of the moment is succinctly broken.

Uthvir coos soothingly at their baby as they take her from Melarue, though, brushing her cheek and sighing as they set about feeding her again. Formula soon, definitely. It’s harder to manage this time, mostly because it is, it seems, hard to cry and latch on at the same time, and admittedly Uthvir doesn’t have much breast to offer. They are also, as their senses increase, not entirely comfortable with having Melarue witness the whole dilemma.

“Soothe her first,” Melarue suggests, before turning and, with appreciable perceptiveness, heading for the door. “I have some calls to make.”

And with that, Uthvir is left with their screaming infant, their daughter, and their husband – and no one else.

They let out a breath, and look down at their baby.

“Okay,” they say. “Okay, shh.” Lifting the loose hem of their shirt, they take it clean off, and cuddle her up towards their heartbeat. Cradling her head, as Thenvunin slides out of the covers, and pads his way over. Kel scooches herself onto her knees, and they make sure she’s not liable to get caught in the rocker as she comes closer, and makes shushing noises of her own.

Soon enough it’s a family activity; and somewhere between that, and the motions of the chair, and being pressed up close to Uthvir, the baby calms down. And once she calms down, getting her to eat is a lot easier. Thenvunin leans over them, as she eats, curling his hand over the back of her head.

“I still don’t know her name,” Kel muses, after a few quiet moments.

After several months of disagreeing, Uthvir and Thenvunin had decided that Kel could pick the baby’s name. Not entirely; they had given her a list of names they could both more or less approve of to choose from. But all things considered, it had seemed like a good way to help cement her place in the new baby’s life. To make her feel included.

“There’s no rush,” Uthvir assures her. “She won’t mind. She’s still too little to know about names yet. “

Kel lets out a breath, and nods, and leans against them again.

“Mirena wasn’t on the list,” their daughter notes.

Uthvir stills, and Thenvunin starts, a bit. They both look over at her; though Uthvir starts rocking a little, again, when the baby seems to falter out of the rhythm they’ve finally gained.

“That’s because it’s going to be her middle name,” Thenvunin admits.

“Oh,” Kel says. “I guess it would be a lot, for her it to be her first name.”

“It would,” Uthvir agrees. They don’t think Thenvunin could help feeling a little melancholy about it, and neither of them want him feeling sad when he says their baby’s name.

“I’ll pick a good one,” Kel promises. “I’ve got it narrowed down a lot.”

She makes her way to her feet, and kisses her sister on the cheek. And then Uthvir, too, before she picks her phone up off the floor. Uthvir checks the clock, and realizes how late it is. They nod at Thenvunin, and he goes and scoops up their eldest with unexpected fervor, kissing her cheeks until she laughs before herding her out of the room.

“Bed time,” he declares. “Let’s go find grandnanae and say goodnight.”

Kel offers some protests, but it’s been a tiring day all around, Uthvir thinks, and they don’t survive long by the sounds of it. Thenvunin pulls the door to, and they look down at their new baby again. With her tiny, scrunched up face, and her blonde hair, and her blue eyes staring intently back up at them.

Second baby, they think.

Baby A. Baby B.

“Hello there, baby bee,” they whisper, brushing a finger across her cheek. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I am very,  _very_  glad to have you out here, now, instead of the in there.”

They nod to their stomach.

The baby blinks.

They’re going to get along just fine, Uthvir suspects.


	49. Breakfast in Bed

The clock has just passed midnight. Kel is asleep in her crib; the baby monitor is quiet.

Thenvunin is in Uthvir’s arms, flushed and panting from the hand they have slipped into his pyjama bottoms, his ass pressed firmly against their crotch as they whisper filthy endearments against the back of his shoulder. He clutches one of his pillows, in turn, and comes with a shuddering gasp as they start moving just a little more roughly.

A hum of approval slips out of them. They stroke him a little more, soothing, now, before pulling their hand up to his abdomen, and spreading a little bit of the mess he’s made. A slight shift brings them high enough to nose at the back of one of his ears, pressing past that massive sea of hair.

“I am going to…”

The baby monitor crackles.

They both pause, waiting, and a half second later there comes a familiar sound of distress.

Fear reaches out, as it has become prone to doing, and Uthvir gathers those nebulous baby thoughts that are nigh-impossible for them to ignore. The feeling of being so small and vulnerable and needing caretakers, and not knowing where they are when they cannot be seen. Every shadow a deep unknown, the world so perilous to someone who cannot even move themselves much yet.

“I’ll get her,” they say.

“It’s my turn,” Thenvunin replies.

They kiss his cheek.

“You’re a mess,” they mention. “I can just wash my hands. Don’t worry about it.”

Their own libido reluctantly cools, as they let out an internal sigh, and make their way out into the hall. A quick stop at the nearest bathroom, and then they head into the nursery, to find the distressed sounds just beginning to turn into cries.

They tut, and peer down into the crib.

“What’s the matter, baby?”

Kel reaches for them, tiny hands coming up, and they lift her out of the crib and check her diaper. Wet.

“Well, that can’t be comfortable,” they murmur, settling her against them as they turn on one of the softer lights, and carry her over to the change table. They check the damage, but it’s not the complete disaster it could be, as they get her out of her soiled diaper and clean her up, and slide on a fresh one.

She starts to settle again as they coo at her, curling a tiny fist against her mouth, distressed cries and fear and discomfort all vanishing as they settle into a familiar routine. By the time they’ve finished changing her, and gotten her into their arms again, her eyelids are drooping.

They rock her a little bit, taking a moment to just breath in the soft, baby-scent of her, before laying her back into her crib.

Out like a light.

That was an easy one. Not that they want to jinx it. They brush her cheek, and turn off the lights again. And then stretch as they make their way back into the hall, and to their bedroom again. The antique clock in the hallway ticks rhythmically, as some of the pipes in another part of the house settle.

The snores coming from the bed tell them that they probably aren’t going to see any more action tonight.

Quietly, they make their way over to Thenvunin’s side. Pulling up the blankets to cover him a little better.  _We should check the wards,_  Fear thinks, and they suppose they might as well. Since they’re up. They go and do just that, moving through darkened hallways to doors and windows. Pausing to check just briefly on Mirena, in her wing of the house, before ending their tour in the kitchen. No disturbances.  They pour themselves a tea, and wonder if they’ll be able to sleep tonight, just the same.

Maybe they should try and get some work done.

Or, maybe they should slip into the bathroom, and try to take the edge off their own frustrated arousal.

They’re still mulling over their options when they hear movement from their bedroom. The wards are still good, so they don’t worry much, as Thenvunin makes his way into the kitchen. Wearing a fresh robe, his soiled pyjama bottoms discarded, his expression rather intent as he comes up behind them and wraps his arms around them.

“I thought you were sleeping,” they say.

Their breath catches a little as he squeezes them tight, and presses a kiss to their temple. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep, we didn’t finish.”

“I wasn’t disappointed,” they reply. Which is… mostly true. And it’s not as though they’d wake him up to demand sex, they’ve got a baby, and Thenvunin is the one who doesn’t have any wayward spirits helping him keep his energy levels high. Considering he’s insisted on doing his fair share of the caretaking, and no less, that gives them a distinct advantage on the ‘being well-rested’ side of things.

Their thoughts halt, though, as Thenvunin’s lips move to the shell of their ear, and with uncommon boldness by his standards, he sucks the tip of it into his mouth. The tingling sensation spreads down and down, and provokes an intrigued twitch from them.

“Come to bed,” he asks.

“Of course,” they agree, easily. Abandoning their tea as they turn to see Thenvunin’s flushed cheeks, and that faint, wavering uncertainty he still gets whenever he initiates things. Well,  _directly_  initiates things, anyway. Privately Uthvir still counts it as ‘initiating things’ when he decides to wear his shortest shorts and ‘accidentally’ starts dropping pens in front of them.

Thenvunin is many things, but in general, he is not a subtle man.

Uncertainty aside, however, he seems determined to take the lead for a little bit, as he tugs them back to the bedroom. It’s a vast difference from when they had first arrived, and he hadn’t even been able to kiss Uthvir with his mother on the opposite side of the house, and their daughter sleeping down the hall. His hands slide underneath their shirt, and his kisses are sweet as they make their way back towards the bed.

“I like sleeping with you,” he says, as they fall back into the sheets.

Uthvir smirks.

“I’ve gathered,” they reply, and he frowns at them.

“I mean  _sleeping_  with you,” he insists. “Not that I mind – I mean, well, obviously we do… activities… but I mean I like it when you’re here. I like waking up and seeing you sleeping next to me. Even though I don’t usually wake up before you do.”

“I…”

They hesitate, and wonder if their frequent insomnia has caused some inadvertent neglect.

Thenvunin’s somewhat bashful confession turns a little ways towards concern, as they rest lean over him.

“I could make more of an effort to stay in the bed with you,” they allow. It’s not as if they  _don’t_ enjoy having him near, too. Though he tends to not sleep well with things like phone or kindle lights, so finding distractions is the real challenge. Left alone to their thoughts, things tend to turn into neurotic brooding before long.

Thenvunin’s frown deepens.

“If it’s an  _effort…”_

“No, that’s not how I meant it-”

“Far be it for me to shackle you to the mattress,” Thenvunin sniffs, pulling back from them, now. Defensive bristles up, as Uthvir has to resist the urge to bang their head against the nighstand.

“Sleeping with you is not a chore, I just – I do not sleep as much as you do,” they reason.

Their boyfriend wraps his arms around himself, and they know at once that this was the wrong thing to say, but they’re not sure why, yet.

“I suppose you think I am lazy,” he accuses. “That I am just like one of those useless men who gets off and – and just falls asleep on his partner, and then lets them look after the baby and take more turns at night, and pretends like he’s a good father but really he’s just doing less than a quarter of what his partner does and patting himself on the back for it. Is that right?”

Uthvir blinks.

Thenvunin bursts into tears.

“What?” they say, startled into freezing. Why he is crying? What did they  _do?_  They review the conversation up until this point, pushing past their alarm at sudden and unexpected tears, and figure it out, though.  _Just falls asleep_  and  _take more turns at night_  and, oh.

They suppose they  _have_  been taking more turns at night, when he lets them.

Fear whispers to them about insufficient fathers, and parents who fail at their tasks. Impressions of a father who was there much less than a mother; and on that one, they are not certain if that is Fear grasping things from Thenvunin, or from their own junkpile of childhood baggage.

“Thenvunin,” they say, reaching for him again. He shrugs them off, and rolls over to hide his face against his pillow instead.

And then two seconds later he rolls back, and crushes himself against them.

“I’m sorry,” he cries.

They manage to get their arms around him, and brush some of the hair out of his face.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” they say. “I’m a ridiculous insomniac, you know that. I’ve always been one. It makes sense for me to take more turns at night, and I wasn’t even remotely offended that you fell asleep. You’re a good father. You’re the best father I’ve ever seen in my life.” And, of late, he’s had some steep competition, given that Adannar and Dirthamen are not precisely slouches. Nor is Nithroel, for that matter.

“I don’t mean to get so tired,” Thenvunin says. “I haven’t gotten you to – you haven’t – not for  _weeks.”_

They blink.

Oh.

“It’s alright, Thenvunin. This is what steamy showers are for,” they say.

“You shouldn’t just let me take advantage of you!” he snaps, and  _that_  strikes a nerve. A rush of discomfort that slithers down their spine, like a track for Fear to come and spread between their ribs, and press against their lungs for a moment. And then it’s their turn to push away, features twisting as their own hackles go up.

“As if I would,” they counter.

_You would, though._

They hiss in distaste, and Thenvunin looks all brittle and upset, and Fear keeps going, whispering unwelcome observations as their gut curls and they scowl at the bed posts.

“It’s not taking advantage of me if it’s perfectly fair,” they insist, tone harsh. “I don’t mind if you fall asleep. I  _want_  you to fall asleep. You need eight hours, that’s normal, you’re a normal elf who needs a decent night’s sleep. I like helping you relax, dammit, it makes me feel like I’m looking after you, which is probably the least I can fucking do since I essentially dropped a baby into your arms and you turned out to be the world’s best person and fell in love with her on the spot. Not that it’s hard to fall in love with her. It isn’t. But most people would at least take five minutes to reconsider this whole relationship, and yet here we are, here  _I_  am, with a beautiful baby and with you, my gorgeous boyfriend, so sue me if I want to make you feel good and let you sleep and do nice things for your sometimes. It’s not like it’s new. We do nice things for each other. You massage my wings, and that’s not supposed to be a requirement in any relationship, most people wouldn’t even  _care_  if they hurt sometimes or I pulled a muscle or something, let alone set aside vacation time to go rub oil into them.”

Thenvunin blinks.

Uthvir swallows.

…Dammit, Fear. They’re pretty sure the bulk of that tirade was meant to be directed  _inwards._

Maybe they actually do need more sleep than they thought.

Awkward silence permeates the air.

The baby monitor crackles to life, again, with a few soft sounds.

_She heard._

There is no possible way that she heard, Uthvir has checked and re-checked at Fear’s insistence  _and_  Thenvunin’s and a bomb could go off in this bedroom without it making a splash in the nursery.

“I’ll go,” Thenvunin says, briskly, gets up off of the bed. Straightening himself out for a moment, as even now part of Uthvir thinks he should just curl up and get some sleep while they handle it. But they must still have some modicum of sense in their head, because they know that argument wouldn’t go over well right now.

So instead they sit, arms folded defensively as Thenvunin leaves the room.

They keep one ear on the baby monitor. But they don’t think Kel’s really woken up, and that theory holds water as they fail to hear Thenvunin’s voice, or any sounds beyond some quiet shuffling for a few moments. Longer than it would take to verify that the baby is still sleeping, but they suppose he’s avoiding them, now.

After a few minutes they lean back against the pillows.

Thenvunin definitely does do his fair share, though. He dresses Kel most mornings, and usually ends up doing more daytime diaper changes because of that. Uthvir might, possibly, be gone enough on him that it… does count as a vulnerability. But Thenvunin… they trust him. Even Fear has troubles finding a way around that one. He’s not going to turn around and tear the ground out from underneath them. If things go badly awry, at the very least, he’ll give them some kind of forewarning – whether deliberately or just by freaking out about it.

But insecurities are insecurities.

They close their eyes as they mull the matter over, and it feels like they just blink and find that they’ve rolled onto their side.

Except that the light in the room is different.

And Fear’s doing that post-sleep thing where it’s still halfway in the Fade, making inarticulate noises at some passing wisp that got too close to their baby’s dreams.

And the blankets are pulled up all around them.

They inhale deeply, and then sit up.

Where’s Thenvunin?

Probably with Kel. The other half of the bed is empty, although it does look like it was slept in, at least, and not just tossed up by their other activities. The clock on the bedside table tells them it’s a little after seven. Well past when they usually wake, and a little late for Thenvunin’s standards, too. They push the blankets aside, ready to get up and go do whatever damage control is needed, when the bedroom door opens.

Thenvunin comes in.

Carrying a tray.

He stills as they lock gazes with him, and then blink at the tray. Which is ladened with some of their preferred breakfast items, a glass of fresh juice, and what, by the smell of it, must also be freshly made coffee.

Their chest tightens, a little.

_Oh._

“Were you bringing me breakfast in bed?” they ask, blinking.

Thenvunin raises his chin a little.

“I  _am_  bringing you breakfast in bed. Get back in there,” he insists, striding forward determinedly. “Don’t worry about Kel, Mamae’s got her. She’s already had her breakfast, and she’s in a good mood. Kel, I mean. Well. Mamae is in a good mood, too.”

Uthvir blinks again, but when Thenvunin nudges their knee, they obligingly slide back under the covers. With just a hint of fond amusement.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know. It wasn’t even much of an argument,” they say.

“Yes, well. I probably shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to accuse you of being… passive,” Thenvunin replies, not quite looking at them. “I don’t know where that came from, honestly. It was late. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

He fusses with some of the dishes as he sets the tray out over their legs. They catch his wrist, before he can withdraw.

“Stay and eat with me?” they ask. “There’s a lot here, I’m not sure I could manage it all.”

That’s only half a lie. Thenvunin’s gone and made them some kind of breakfast banquet, by the looks of it.

He wavers, for a moment. But when they bring his wrist to their lips for a kiss, he caves, and with a sigh he climbs into the bed next to them. And it doesn’t take much to get him to scoot closer to them, either. Before long he’s leaning against their shoulder as much as the headboard behind them, stealing sips of their coffee and bites of their toast, little pieces of fruit that he frets will drip onto the blankets.

“You already came on the blankets. They’ll need washing today anyway,” Uthvir points out, and grins as he flushes.

But then he clears his throat, and looks all determined again.

“They’ll need washing tomorrow, too, then. Since I fully intend to make you… you know. Tonight.”

Their grin widens, and Thenvunin straightens up so he can fold his arms and pointedly Not Look At Them.

“That seemed a little unclear, Thenvunin,” they purr. “What were you going to make me do tonight, precisely? Eat more meals in bed?”

He purses his lips.

“You can spend the whole day in bed if you want to, you’ve certainly earned a break by now,” he declares, with a fervency that surprises them. Then he shifts, a little, and glares down at the tray. “I mean, I was already on a break when we became parents. But you were working. And you’re  _still_  working,  _and_  looking after Kel,  _and_  looking after me, and I just… I’m your partner.”

They swallow awkwardly around their toast, as their expression goes a little somber.

“I know,” they assure him. “Thenvunin. You look after me, too. Even when you don’t bring it to me in bed, you still make me breakfast often enough. And like I said last night, you do other things. You do more than enough.” They wince a little, recalling their unexpected outburst. Their head’s still a little foggy with the telltale signs of too much time spent awake, without them really noticing they were spending too much time awake.

They really need to start keeping better track of that.

“You’re a good partner,” they assure him.

He lets out a breath, and looks them in the eye. And straightens up again.

“Yes, well. I’ll feel more confident of that if you take a break,” he insists.

And.

Well.

Shit.

He’s got them by the tender spots with that one.

They’re almost proud of it. That was brilliantly done, they think. Now they  _have_  to take a break, or else they’ll be making him feel insecure, and by now he probably knows how little they like to make him feel insecure.

“Sneaky, beloved,” they say.

He huffs.

“I don’t know  _what_  you mean by that. You need a break; that was the point of all of this. Eat your eggs.”

They snicker.

“Are you going to be this bossy later tonight?” they wonder, raising their eyebrows. “Going to tell me what else I can eat?”

Thenvunin pointedly picks up their fork and sticks it in their hand.

“Stop being inappropriate. Kel is awake and my mother is in the sitting room,” he insists.

“I was only talking about dinner. That  _is_  what you have planned for me and the sheets later, isn’t it?”

_“Uthvir._  You know perfectly well what I meant!” he insists.

“Lunch?” they suggest, and can’t help snickering again when Thenvunin  drops his face into his hands.

“You are a  _menace,”_  he accuses. “But I am not going to say it. I know you know, I’m not falling for it, I’ve already been explicit enough when Kel and Mamae are up and about. So you just. You. Have your breakfast, and then think of relaxing things you can do all day. It’s short notice so I understand if you have to do some work, but don’t spend the whole day on it.”

They sigh, because they can tell he’s going to be insistent about it.

Maybe a break’s not a bad idea, though.

They wait until he’s looking at them again before they put their fork into their mouth, and then sloooowly draw it back out again. Letting their tongue flit forward to lick their lips, afterwards, and it’s really just very silly, because it’s a  _fork_  and they hadn’t even put anything on it, yet. But it still makes Thenvunin fluster again, until he finally takes the fork back from them, and gathers a portion of eggs onto it, and then holds it up to their lips.

They look at him sideways.

“Is this a new kink?” they ask.

_“No,”_  he snaps.

But still. It’s rather sweet, they suppose; and it’s also a terrible miscalculation on his part, as they lean forward to take the offered bite, and grasp his wrist, Running their thumb up and down his pulse point, and letting out and exaggerated moan of oral delights as the well-cooked but by no means exceptional eggs hit their palate. They swallow them down without chewing, exaggerating their throat bob, too, and Thenvunin makes a pained noise before he swats their shoulder.

“Stop being  _lewd!”_  he demands, hotly.

Uthvir’s about to reply that they have no idea what he means when there’s a knock on the door. And then they have to stop the tray from falling over as Thenvunin all but  _flies_  off of the bed, mortification written in his every gesture. He hurriedly straightens himself, even though Uthvir hasn’t really mussed his clothing at all, before rushing over to get the door.

Mirena and Kel, unsurprisingly, are on the other side.

“I’m so sorry, da’vhenan,” Mirena says. “But I just need to use the washroom and she’s been fussy, so I thought-“

“No, no, Mamae, don’t apologize, I said I would be back soon. I should have come and gotten her myself,” Thenvunin insists, as Kel makes her ‘hi papae’ sound. Uthvir doesn’t actually mind the end to the teasing, though – it’s a challenge to get Thenvunin to  _do_ anything sexual in the daytime, not and still feel comfortable about it. So a little playful banter was going to be the extent of it anyway.

Besides. Something in them settles a lot more easily when they actually see their daughter for the first time today.

Mirena offers them a wave before vanishing off – Uthvir gives her an assessing look, but she just doesn’t seem to be on the verge of dramatic collapse – and then Thenvunin comes and trades them their daughter for their mostly-finished tray. They spare a brief thought to wonder if they’re going to be treated as if bedridden for the duration of this venture, but then their boyfriend insists they get up so he can take the bedsheets, too.

Kel burbles at him, and Uthvir nods in agreement as they settle into one of the bedroom chairs with her instead.

“Just so,” they say.

She reaches a tiny hand towards her papae, and then blinks at them. Babbling a little more.

“I think that’s a fair assessment,” they reply.

“Bada?” Kel asks them.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“What is she saying?” Thenvunin asks, and then stops, and visibly rolls his eyes at himself.

Uthvir grins.

“She says Papae is good at looking after people, even if he is a chronic worrier,” they inform him. Kel grasps the edges of their shirt collar, and  _yanks_ , then, and they wince a little before gently unwinding her fingers. At least it wasn’t hair.

This time.

Poor Thenvunin.

He huffs at them, but then Kel looks worried, and any pretense of irritation he might have made ends up falling apart as he directs silly faces towards her instead. Enough to make her grin that beautiful grin of hers, that then gets turned towards Uthvir, who can’t help but mirror it back.

“Did you have a good breakfast, baby?” they ask her.

She babbles at them, and reaches for their face. And they carry on in this fashion, with Uthvir asking questions and offering occasional distractions. Whenever she babbles at them they always answer her as if she’s made a particularly keen observation, while Thenvunin changes the sheets and whisks away the tray and otherwise very clearly avoids being the useless deadbeat he fears. Not that he was ever even at much risk of it.

“I agree, he is the very  _best_  Papae,” they say, at one point. And Thenvunin looks up with an expression that implies he’s forgotten that Uthvir doesn’t actually speak Baby Nonsense. Kel times an agreeable ‘ga’ just perfectly for the moment, and they grin and watch him go all flustered about it.

“You’re being silly,” Thenvunin accuses.

“I’m helping her develop a vocabulary,” Uthvir counters, and that stops him. But they also let up on the teasing, too, and put Kel down so she can crawl around a little. She can’t go very far, yet. But she always tries to go a little bit further, especially if there’s a toy or a person she likes that she can use as a target; the morning, the target is Thenvunin, as he folds down the corners of the bed and shakes out a fresh comforter.

Uthvir watches their daughter’s progress, thinking about what work they actually have to do, and what Thenvunin would consider ‘relaxing’ behaviour. Probably… actually relaxing. Which is easier said than done, for them. But watching their baby crawl in a room that smells like fresh laundry, while Thenvunin hums sporadically under his breath, is a good start on things.

With a few tiny strains and one sound of giggly triumph, Kel reaches her Papae.

Thenvunin bends down and scoops her up.

“My goodness, you went so far!” he exclaims, wisely moving his hair out of range, and dropping a kiss onto Kel’s nose. She seems quite pleased with herself. And why not? She reached her goal. Uthvir smiles, and then lets out a breath and gets up.

“I have some e-mails to send,” they say.

“Don’t do more than you have to,” Thenvunin reminds them.

“Or what? You’ll tie me to the bed?” they wonder.

Shifting his grip on her, Thenvunin covers one of Kel’s ears, and presses the other against his chest. She blinks at him.

“Uthvir!” he protests.

“It’s a figure of speech!” they counter. “Really, Thenvunin.”

“Don’t start!”

They snicker, and then lean over and kiss their daughter’s forehead, before dropping a peck onto Thenvunin’s lips. He only frowns a little, and then Kel starts squirming to try and hear things again, and he has to let her in order to keep holding her properly. It’s as good an opening as they’re going to get, so they slip down into the hall while he’s busy with the baby, and head for the study.

Fear is still a little foggy and distant at the moment, busily sweeping through the Fade. Clearing out the cobwebs, they think of it.

Maybe today’s a good day to try and relax after all.


	50. Lacy Underthings

Vena sighs as he finally gets in through the door at the end of the day.

_Home._

Home, sweet home, with Ana and Taz and Isabela and Rissa and itty baby Vara. After too many hours of overtime at the firm finishing up an unexpected consultation with one of their more prominent clients, all Vena wants to do is get out of his suit, kiss his babies, and melt into the couch cushions. Let his bones turn to jelly until he can peel himself back up and then go to bed, all warm and cozy with his wife. He smells like coffee and office air, and his temples are thrumming with the threat of a tension headache from too many hours spent staring at his computer screen.

But everything is quiet.

Vena blinks, looking around the front entryway for a moment. Rissa’s coat is gone, and so is the stroller, and Isabela’s shoes. Although if Taz went on a cleaning spree when he got home, then he might have actually put that all into the closet where it ostensibly lives. Could explain the quiet, too – if there is a sure-fire way for kids to suddenly find something else to do, it’s usually mentioning cleaning. Vena shrugs his own coat off anyway, and mercifully pulls off his work shoes. Sets aside his briefcase and his laptop.

“Babae’s home!” he calls.

Still quiet. No sounds of Isabela on her phone, or Rissa coming up for hugs, or Vara giggling or crying or anything.

And then he steps past the front entryway, and stops dead in his tracks.

Ana is leaning against the sitting room door frame. Long limbs bare, the rest of her barely covered by the sheer material of a set of soft, lacey panties, and a matching top. Her hair loose and falling down around her, as she smiles, and a bit of colour sneaks into her cheeks.

“Welcome home,” she says.

Vena’s brain just blanks for a full second, before it does a hard reset.

He immediately revises his plans for the evening. Ana. Lacey underthings. Quiet home.

There are a lot of ways a man’s bones can turn into jelly, after all. He can definitely work with this. Yes. His mouth goes dry and his fingers twitch, before he remembers that moving is an obvious option. Ana grins as he steps towards her, and he can’t help but match the expression, smoothing a palm over her lace-clad hip before reaching with his other hand to push some of her hair back.

“Hello,” he murmurs. “What have we here?”

“Today’s Spa Day,” Ana reminds him. “Tasallir and Serahlin have everyone off getting pampered for the next two days.”

Oh. Right. Vena forgot that was this week.

“You didn’t want to go?” he asks. Did she stay behind because he was working? He worries, just for a minute, that she might be missing out.

But then she grins. Unabashed and without a shred of remorse.

“I had a better idea,” she tells him, with a wink. And then a brief pause. “Unless you’re too tired. We’ve got most of tomorrow, too…”

Vena leans in, folding himself around her and burying his nose in her hair. Oh. She smells like those candles she makes, his favourite ones. All woods-y and just a little bit spiced, she must have been handling the oil. Vena’s hand migrates towards the curve of her backside, and squeezes her closer.

“For some reason, I feel like my energy has been dramatically restored. Can’t imagine why,” he says, letting his voice go a bit low and husky as he slides one of his legs between hers. Rocking his hips a bit, listening to her breath hitch. Her fingers curl into his shirt, and she kisses the corner of his jaw.

“Good,” she whispers.

Vena shivers, and then changes gears and scoops her up, bridal-style. Earning himself a surprised little sound as he whirls into the sitting room. Gods above, he loves his Ana-bo-bana. He hums a bit, making a show of it as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. Waggling his eyebrows and deviating from his chipper tune into parody porno music, as he half-dances his way to the bedroom. Ana snorts and shakes her head, gorgeous as she threads her fingers around his tie. They’ve past the threshold to their room before she gives it a pull, and reels him in, making him stagger just a bit to keep his balance. It’s totally worth it, though, because then she kisses him.

“You want a shower first? Bath?” she asks him.

Vena considers.

There are candles lit in the bedroom, and his heart goes all melt-y soft. It’s been months since they could do something like this. Not months since they had sex, but months since they could play around with it. The trials and tribulations of a new baby. He hasn’t felt hard done-by or anything, it’s just. It’s nice when things can be special, like this.

It would be a shame to rush it.

“I probably should,” he decides. “I stink.”

Ana hums, and presses a kiss to his lips.

“Not too badly,” she assures him.

He settles her down, though, and lets her pull his tie off. She winks at him as she drops it by the dresser, before taking his hand, pulling him towards the bathroom. There’s a sway in her hips, and the lacey underthings she’s wearing accentuate the soft, freckled curves of her body. Two kids and around two decades have changed the landscape of it, but Vena doesn’t think he could name a single thing not to adore about her. Then, now. In another couple decades.

How’d he get so lucky?

He still can’t figure it out.

“Are you planning on joining me in the shower?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows again.

“I think I’ll just watch,” Ana tells him, biting her bottom lip and never let it be said that Vena will miss a good opening. He leaves an eyebrow up, as she opens the bathroom door, and lets go of her hand to start sliding out of the rest of his suit. Swaying his own hips, motioning for her to sit back on the edge of the tub as he unbuckles his belt with exaggerated sensuality, and settles in to his best strip-tease routine. That he can manage in the confines of the bathroom, anyway. Limits the potential dance moves, but he cuts loose, and by the time he’s got his boxers off Ana is pink all over and grinning at him.

“I guess I’ll just hop in the shower, and get all wet, and slippery,” he says, posing for a moment as he slides open the door. He pulls out his hair tie, pleased with his success as Ana snickers and bites her bottom lip, managing to cut a very compelling figure herself as she stretches her bare legs forward.

“Mm. Wash up, there are a lot of places I plan on putting my mouth tonight,” she tells him, and his brain blanks and he nearly messes up and smacks himself with the shower door as it closes – but he saves the move in time, even if he still ends up making a pretty embarrassing noise in the process and nearly clocks himself in the head with the shower nozzle. Ana waves at him, and oh, it is  _on._

Vena gets the water going warm, but not too steamy – wouldn’t want to completely fog up the glass, after all. Might spoil the view. But he should probably actually clean himself, too, he figures, and so he gets nice and wet and sudsy, plucking up a bottle of homemade bodywash and spreading it liberally over the relevant areas.

Mm. Coconut-y.

He’s overdue for a hair wash, too, so he shampoos as well, letting out some particularly pointed groans and sighs as he massages his scalp and arches into the spray. There’s only so much he can do while still actually getting clean, though, so he’s not totally surprised when things taper off a bit, and Ana calls over the sound of the spray that she’ll meet him in the bedroom. That spurs him on again, as he finishes washing up, and then drying off. He towel dries his hair and twists it into the quickest braid he can manage, and then ties it up so that it won’t be all damp and in the way of things. Clothing is unnecessary, he thinks, as he exits the bathroom…

And comes up a little short.

Ana’s sitting on the side of the bed, phone in hand and frown on her face.

“No, no – it’s okay, it  _happens,”_  she says, glancing up at him. “Just bring him back. There’s no reason to cancel the whole thing, really, Taz. Vena and I will look after him, you’ve been planning this for months.”

Vena leans against the doorframe, folding his arms and, yet again, shifting gears. Ana makes a few more reassurances and then hangs up.

“Trouble?” he asks.

“Varawell’s got the sniffles,” Ana explains. “He can’t settle down in a strange place for the night when he’s not feeling well. Tasallir was going to bring him home and let the girls stay, but he’s been looking forward to this for so long, and it just seems to be a runny nose…”

Vena nods in understanding.

“There’s no need for all three of us to cancel our plans,” he agrees. Even though, damn, Ana does look good sitting on the bed in those lacey panties of hers. He was looking forward to taking them off with his teeth. Although…

“They went out to the big spa and hotel in Elgar’nan’s district, right?” he checks. “That’s at least half an hour to drive back, this time of night…”

Ana glances up at him, and then trails her gaze pointedly down him.

“I guess we don’t need a whole half an hour to get decent…” she permits.

Vena takes the invitation for what it is, and pounces. Earning himself a hailstorm of giggles as they both bounce against the mattress a bit, and Ana winds her arms around her shoulders, and kisses him. He lets his hands roam again. This lace she’s wearing is so  _soft,_ not scratchy like the last time she tried something like this. It feels wonderfully textured and almost warms between his palm and her breasts, as he massages it, and draws his hand down.

“Let me?” he asks, his heart beating faster. Ana nods, and he shimmies his way down, pausing to dip his tongue into her navel and press a kiss to the curve of her hip, before taking the strap of her panties between his teeth, and peeling the delicate material down. The scent of arousal is unmistakable so close. Vena breathes it in, and takes his time, even if it  _is_  of the essence. Drawing the panties all the way down and off, and then kissing and nibbling his way back up. Starting at her ankles and working his lips over the freckles on her calves, and up the skin of her inner thighs. Back to the main attraction, where he nuzzles up to her arousal, and earns a hitched breath as Ana’s legs tighten around him a little. Trying to pull him in more.

“ _Vena,”_  she breathes.

“You are so gorgeous,” he murmurs against her. “My Ana.”

He drags his tongue through her folds, and slides his hands underneath her. Offering her butt a playful squeeze, as she tangles her fingers into the damp strands of his hair, and presses her nails against his scalp. He remembers early on in their relationship, that first glorious evening where he’d managed to eat her out three times in a row, and kept insisting that she ‘tasted like bananas’, licking his lips and watching her  _flame_ afterwards. These says she’s a little less apt to blushing over everything they do, but he can still get her to go red, he knows, as he moves his mouth into familiar space of her. Tongue delving in, licking over the soft, faint little pair of freckles he knows are hiding on the skin of her inner lips. Pressing at her entrance, before drawing up to the sensitive button of her clit. The gods gave him a long tongue and he appreciates the gesture, as he works it against her, up and down. Savouring the way her thighs tremble, and her fingers tighten in his hair, as her breaths turn ragged and her ankles dig into his back.

She arches a little when she comes, and he mouths at her. Kissing her, really, until her legs relax again, and he can track his way back up into her arms.

He’s got a raging hard-on, of course. Ana checks the clock, and grins at him, flushed and a little dazed as she flips them over. Rocking her hips against him, the angle so perfect and her body so relaxed that he actually slides partway into her and then back out again, loose and easy, and a voice in the back of his mind worries about the lack of condoms before he remembers. Right. The vasectomy. Reversible, just in case, but all things considered, it had seemed the sensible road to go.

And it means they don’t have to muck around with birth control or condoms, as Ana positions herself over him and slips him into her body again. Not all the way, but it’s still pretty damn good as-is, all warm and slick and easy. His cock sliding into her and then against her, caught between her legs, and unsteady rhythm but then she closes her hand over him and gives him a firm, smooth stroke, and he comes. Calling her name, gripping the lace of her shirt.

She grins at him.

Once the little bursts of white in his vision clear, Vena wants nothing more than to close his arms around her, and cuddle up with her. Just like this.

But…

He sighs, and checks the clock. Yeah. They should get cleaned up. There’s gonna be Tasallir and a baby, soon, and neither of them deserve to be scarred for life by coming home to find himself and Ana still indecent.

He settles for a long, slow kiss, instead, as Ana swings her leg back around him.

“Raincheck on the night-long love-making session?” he suggests.

“Definitely,” she agrees.

By the time they manage to get themselves cleaned up and into some less sexy nightwear, though, he can tell that they’re both thinking about their youngest. When Tasallir arrives, Ana’s wearing one of his old shirts and he’s got on his favourite tropical shorts. Comfy and home-y, and Taz looks like he’s been worrying over a sniffly baby all evening when he comes in the door, lugging along the stroller with one arm and holding Varawell in the other.

Ana scoops up their son and Vena checks over their Taz, whose hair is glossy and whose eyes are heavy.

“You want to stay here and just go back in the morning?” Vena suggests.

Tasallir hesitates a moment, but then lets out a breath, and nods. Vena helps him out of his coat, as Ana rocks Varawell, who – yeah, those are definitely sniffles. Poor kid’s got snot coming out of everywhere, it looks like, as he makes a miserable little face and clings to his Mamae’s shoulder.

Vena’s heart wrenches.

But Ana’s got him, and Taz explains that he called their pediatrician and got a list of things to look out for in case Vara actually needs to go to the hospital. Getting sick is just one of those things that babies do. Vena glances at Ana, and by unspoken agreement, she goes to get Vara settled into their room, while he nudges Tasallir down the hall and towards his own bed.

“I apologize for interrupting,” Taz tells him.

“It’s okay, Taz, we wouldn’t want him to be miserable and sick and homesick on top of it,” Vena assures him, opening his arm in a discreet offer of a hug. Which Taz subtly declines, but then, it was a spa day and a sick baby. He’s probably spent the past few hours being touched a lot. Vena just nods, and settles for a soft ‘good night’, before making his way back to his and Ana’s room.

In the few minutes it takes him to get there, Ana’s got the dehumidifier on, and Vara nestled into the middle of the bed, along with a giant box of extra soft tissues. She’s putting him into one of her old t-shirts in lieu of pyjamas – easier to take off if he gets snot all over it, really, and comfier on sensitive skin for now – and Vena lets himself be just a bit tired again, as he climbs onto the blankets on his side of the bed. Settling a hand on his son’s stomach, while Vara sniffs.

“Hey, buddy bean,” he says. “All stuffed up, huh?”

Vara’s eyes are watery as he turns to look at him, and Vena coos soothingly, and presses a kiss to his cheek.

It’s probably going to be a long night, and not how Ana had planned.

But, whatever the reason for them, he doesn’t think he would trade his long nights with his family for the world.


	51. (Not) Just Like You

Tonlen gets his magic at five in a great swirling burst of glitter that exudes from him the first time he tries on a pair of heels. It is exuberance and beauty and absolutely harmless. All those around him praise him and ooh and aww over the pink dust now floating in the air.

It is completely different from Ileth’s bullying and violent encounter.

Ileth is of course happy for his brother – he gets the entirely positive experience, he doesn’t get the curse of frightened and easily activated magic that hurts people. He gets…sparkles, and that’s fitting too, Ileth thinks, considering just how his brother is.

That night, the dreams begin. A voice as soft as velvet, sweet and kind that almost feels like a mirror in it smoothness, slithering over him and into him.

“It isn’t fair that he gets all that praise when they yelled at you.”

“He deserves to be happy and he is, that isn’t wrong,” Ileth responds and the voice quietly relents.

The dreams do not stop and the voice does not leave, however. Every night it coils around him, purring about all the little things in his life that he should have but he doesn’t. He should have Tonlen’s symmetrical beauty. He should have Felasel’s ease with magic. He should have Darevas’s magnetic personality. Kel’s determination. Isabela’s tenacity.

Ileth tries not to listen. He doesn’t like what the voice says, and he doesn’t agree…at least…he doesn’t think he does. He loves his brother and cousins. They should be happy with everything that they have.

“Of course they do! But don’t you deserve it as well?”

He…doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Go away,” he says softly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You should be happy too.” The voice says before sliding back into the shadows. He thinks about those words the rest of the day at school and wonders if being happy for him looks like Darevas’s laughter, like Kel’s smile, like Felasel’s ease in watching it all.

He wonders why his happiness isn’t like theirs, or like his brother’s, who seems so easily placated with pretty things and magic. Ileth’s magic is…not improving the way it should. Felasel likes to watch him sometimes, curious, but Ileth doesn’t like it. He’s not talented like his cousin, not even balanced like Darevas. His magic wobbles and wavers or explodes in uncontrollable bursts. No one can seem to figure out  _why_.

Felasel mentions a shadow one day, Ileth thinks, but the whispers say that Felasel is just jealous of him.

“You look more like Selene’s son than Felasel will ever look.” It whispers. Ileth tries harder to ignore it.

When Ileth is twelve, the voice grows bolder and stops leaving his dreams when he asks. Pale hands reach out to him, nails trailing faintly against his skin as the voice settles against him, the velvety smooth underside of the pillow used to smother.

“They think you’re a failure, you know. Defective.”

“That’s not true.” He protests, trying to pull away.

“Tonlen can almost do the magic you’re doing and he’s only had his magic for three years. You should be better.”

“Stop talking,” Ileth whispers, covering his ears with his hands.

“But Ileth, I’m only saying what you already think and believe.”

“No! You’re…you’re a demon!” He shouts.

The voice is quiet for a long time, hands and nails digging into his skin deeper and deeper until he feels like he’s about to be ripped apart.

But then it recedes and a soft sob echoes through the space.

“How would you feel if someone called you that? I’m just like you, Ileth. That hurts, I don’t call you a demon. Please don’t hate me.” It pleads and whines and cries and Ileth feels himself drop down, folding in on himself.

“I’m sorry, please don’t hate me.” He’s not sure if he said it or the voice said it, maybe both? Maybe neither. But the sentiment remains and he wakes up in a cold sweat, silently blinking away tears.

He’s at a sleepover with Kel, she’s asleep, breathing softly and buried deep in her blankets to keep the cold out. But even underneath the mountain of blankets he’s under, placed there by his uncle, he feels cold. It’s a bone deep coldness that will not leave him.

And even with the sleeping cousin by him he feels isolated, silent in a pitch black night.

He can’t get to sleep for the rest of the night and when his nabae comes in to check on him, their face is knowing. They run a concerned hand over the top of his head.

“Anything you want to talk about?” They ask.

_They’re a powerful shifter, never had problems with their magic, they won’t understand you._ The voice comes back, less like speaking and more like…thinking, and Ileth shakes his head.

He doesn’t like lying to U-bear, but….

_They won’t understand. Alone. We’re alone._

_Please stop._

Their brows pull together slightly but they nod.

“Okay, but if there’s ever anything you need to talk about, even if it’s hard, you can, alright?”

He nods and they let him get dressed.

_We’re alone, you know._

_Go away._

_Why are you so mean to me?_

He feels like crying, but he can’t cry, then they’ll know he’s weak and they’ll hate him. Tonlen will laugh at him because he is so good at magic, he probably doesn’t hear the whispers. Is this punishment because he isn’t good with his magic?

What’s wrong with him?

The voice keeps with him for the next two weeks. He loses sleep, curled up in a ball at night, not wanting to go back where it can touch him, where it can tell him everything that’s wrong with him. He just wants to sleep.

Felasel won’t shut up about shadows. Darevas pushes him at one point, teasingly, but Ileth can’t stop himself from falling and crying.

He feels like glass, ready to shatter and break at any moment.

“I didn’t even push you that hard!” Darevas cries, more worried than anything else.

_He hates you, that’s why he pushed you._

_I’m so tired._

Darevas tries to help him up but Ileth flinches away, expecting claws, “Don’t touch me!” 

“What’s wrong, Ileth?” Felasel asks.

_What’s wrong with you?_

“Please leave me alone.” He whispers. The boys pause but they back off, whispering to themselves. 

_You’re not like them. They don’t like that._

Ileth pulls himself up from the ground and makes himself go to class, exhausted. His grades have been slipping, he knows. Memae and Papae aren’t happy about that. But he can barely pay attention to the board, the voice likes to talk about how the other kids are better than him, because they are. He’s not as smart. He’s not as talent. He’s not gifted. The teacher hates him. 

He wants to go home. 

The next day after school aunt Selene comes over and asks to see him. He’s working on his language arts homework but his memae closes the door when his aunt strides into the room.

He loves his aunt.

_Another mage who doesn’t understand._ The voice hisses and Ileth flinches inwardly. Why can’t it go away.

She smiles at Ileth and crouches at his chair, making herself smaller.

“Hey, da’len, how are you?” She takes his hand, touches his hair, and he wants so badly to talk to her. This is aunt Selene, she’s mentioned before how her magic would be unpredictable. Maybe she’d understand.

_Right, and she recovered like a good mage._

_I want to be a good mage, she can help –_

_You aren’t a good mage._

“Tired,” he answers softly. Her hand drifts through his hair, her eyes looking almost past him he thinks.

“Do you want to sleep? I know a spell or potion that could help.”

He quickly shakes his head. She stops and her eyes sharpen a bit, pupils dilating just a fraction.

“Why don’t you want to sleep?” She asks softly.

He wants to tell her, it’s on the tip of his tongue. He wants help, he wants her to help, but his tongue is thick, the voice is loud and he just wants it to stop.

“I….”

_Why are you so weak? I could move to your brother, you know, I could be friends with a better mage. His magic isn’t broken like yours, I bet he’d like me better. He’d treat me nicely!_

No, not Tonlen. He’s only eight, he can barely form a good barrier and if there is one thing Ileth can do, it’s make barriers.

“I…need to finish my homework,” he replies softly. His aunt remains still and she frowns.

“Ileth –

“I really need to do my work,” he says and quickly turns to his desk again. His homework sheet is a little blurry but he tries to work on it anyways.

_Talk to me_. The voice demands as the door clicks closed and he distantly hears his aunt speaking with his memae.

_Please don’t talk to my brother._

_As long as I have you._

A water droplet falls on his paper. He’s crying. Why is he so pathetic? He can’t tell his aunt, he can’t control his magic, he can’t do anything right.

But he can make sure the voice doesn’t go near his brother.

Two hours later and his papae calls him down for dinner. He cleans his face and hands and stares at the mirror, thinking maybe he should start wearing makeup so no one see the dark circles under his eyes.

_I wish we had better colored eyes, too. Matching ones to be beautiful, don’t you think? Like Darevas’s perfect blue._

_Memae says I have beautiful eyes, that I’m unique._

_Ugh, mothers lie you know. They lie about everything._

His hands shake. He hates this. He hates the voice, and he hates his magic.

_I’m the only one who loves you!_ He feels the claws dig into him even now, even awake and tears threaten to spill over again.

_You shouldn’t go to dinner, they’ll laugh at you. Poor tired Ileth, he isn’t like us. Don’t you wish you were normal? So you could be with them?_

_I can be with them._

_But they will never be with you._

There’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Ileth? Is everything alright?” His papae asks.

_Tell him you’re fine. He won’t understand._

“I’m fine, papae.”

_You’re not hungry._

“I’m…not really hungry!” His stomach feels like it’s going to cave in itself because he’s hungry but what if he doesn’t do what the voice says? He can’t let it say these things to his brother.

“It’s cheesy mashed potato night, are you sure?” His papae tries again. Ileth swallows.

“Uh-huh!” There is a long pause and then he hears his father walk away. Safe. But not, because the claws dig into him again and he falls to the bathroom floor, tired and hungry, unable to move.

_Poor Ileth, with horrible magic and a perfect brother. Don’t you wish you could be like him? Just like him?_

_Please stop._

_Oooh, what about Aunt Selene? She got over her terrible magic, right? You could be just like her?_

_What?_

_Oh yes, you could be just like her. In control. Pretty. Strong. Isn’t that what you want?_

A picture of an Ileth with unwavering magic and matching green eyes is summoned to his mind. A steady barrier is around him while green lights glow consistently. He’s smiling, this Ileth. Tall, like the twins, eyes sharp like aunt Selene’s.

_That’s not me._

_But it could be!_

There’s a knock at the door.

“Ileth, I need to talk to you.” Aunt Selene? But didn’t she leave?

_Tell her to go away, you’re busy._

“I’m busy.”

“Ileth, I know what’s going on, if you can’t open the door I will open it, okay?”

_She’s going to hurt us!_

_Aunt Selene would never hurt me._

_She’ll hurt me, you idiot. And if you won’t protect me, I’ll leave and take Tonlen, understand?_

Panic surges through him and a barrier comes up just as the door is yanked open, broken. Aunt Selene steps through.

_Get. Rid. Of. Her._

“I’m sorry!” Ileth cries, holding up his hand and shoving his aunt back with surprisingly powerful magic. She flies back into the vanity, body naturally curving inward.

_Run! They know!_

Ileth launches himself out of the bathroom and runs down the hall.

“UTHVIR! HE’S RUNNING!”

He’s about to run down the stairs when strong hands suddenly just out from his parent’s bedroom and haul him into the room. There’s a crack and sizzle of magical energy as he flails.

_Fucking blast them! Are you really this incompetent? Say yes and this can be all over._

_No. No. Help? Help me please._

_Listen to me!_

Disjointed thoughts enter his head, magic blasts out of his body and he thinks his nabae is flying somehow but it’s all dark.

Clawed hands suddenly pull and push him down. More fizzling and crackling and his vision clears, sharpening to reveal his parent’s bedroom.

There are…glyphs…everywhere. Glowing and buzzing in his ear. U-bear is suddenly in his field of vision, looking down at him, there is…blood flowing out of their nose and their teeth are sharp. A large dark shroud suddenly envelopes them and terror hits Ileth.

He renews his struggles, trying to get away. Get away!

_They’re going to kill you! Let me save you!_

“That’s not helping,  _Fear._ ”

“By all means,  _Desire._ ”

_Demons! They’re demons, Ileth! They’re going to kill us!_

He screams and summons up his magic, trying to blast everyone away, but it fizzles and dies.

_I can break the glyph, Ileth. Let me help._

“Ileth, don’t listen to it!”

Aunt Selene is there, but she’s purple, why is she purple? And fire!

_Let me in! Let me in! Let me in! LET ME IN!_

Searing pain lances through him, claws digging into his skin and tearing at him until he’s writhing and screaming.

_I can make the pain stop. Let me in!_

But he can’t think clearly, he doesn’t know what’s going on. What’s going on? Everything hurts. He blinks and U-bear’s there again, but the shroud is different. His eyes fix on it and he tries to focus on it but the voice snaps in him.

_Do you want this to stop?_

_Yes!_

_Thank you._

His body feels like it’s breaking, bones like they’re stretching in an incomprehensible fashion, his skin crawls and ribs ache.

“No! Ileth! Say no!” He doesn’t know who says it. But he hears it.

_No. No. I didn’t say that. That’s not what I meant._

_What’s going on?_

_I don’t know._

_Help me._

His thoughts are disjointed and he tries to push but his magic fizzles and fails.

“He-e-e-l-p me-e-e!” He shouts. There’s a swear and suddenly warm, clawed hands are on his face.

He finally loses consciousness.

…

When he opens his eyes again, there are two figures before him. One that vaguely reminds him of aunt Selene but…almost like a man. They’re terrifying, he thinks, shrouded in purple flame, but very beautiful. Horns curve from their head and a tail snaps angrily behind them. They’re standing in front of him, almost…over him? Is he lying down?

He looks at himself to find that he is lying down. Oh.

The other figure is sickly looking, pale and…grotesque, he thinks. Arms protruding from odd angles, a mouth full of disfigured teeth…mismatched eyes.

_Is that me?_  He thinks.

_No, that is a demon_. A voice that sounds like his U-bear’s says and he looks over to see another figure, this one terrifying but…comforting, like his U-bear but…more.

_Don’t listen to them, Ileth, they’re going to hurt us._

A laugh that sounds like his aunt Selene’s but not echoes.

_No, we’re not going to harm a single hair on his head. Yours, however…we are going to eviscerate you for what you’ve done._

The creature that almost looks like himself screeches, backing away and making to run when not-U-bear waves their hand and snaps the creature back. It lands at not-Selene’s feet, writhing, cowing away.

_Stupid, young thing. Breaking rules of conduct – that was no ‘yes’, and it never will be._

Not-Selene picks the creature up by its swollen neck and it seems so…small in their clawed grasp.

_Betrayer to your own kind!_ The voice snaps, but not-Selene just laughs.

_You dare hunt_ my  _brood?_ Their claws elongate and the air becomes charged as purple flame engulfs the creature in a fiery blaze. It writhes for a moment before blasting not-Selene away and trying to run again. Not-Uthvir tsks their tongue encases it a barrier, whispers that creep down Ileth’s spine fill the space.

_Little Envy, so scared that it will never live up to any of the big demons, the ones with power._

_Shut up!_

_You’re just like the rest of them – hopeless and scared and powerless against everything you know. Maybe you can find something to possess, make yourself powerful, but in the end, Envy, all you are is a sad, pathetic excuse for a demon._

Not-Uthvir flicks their hand and the creature…Envy…screams, clutching at its head.

“NO! Don’t hurt it!” Ileth screams at last, fear leaving a potent sour taste in his mouth.

_It will only hurt you, Ileth. It has no use for deals – only destruction._

“Please! It’ll hurt Tonlen!”

There is a distinct pause before the fear in the air thickens, purple flames suddenly joining it in a brilliant display.

_That will never happen, Ileth. We promise._  Not-Selene’s voice says as the creature screams and screams, going up into purple smoke in a brilliant flash. The screeching remained for a moment, claws digging one final time into Ileth’s body…before disappearing.

He gasps and falls back to the ground, weightless and tired. The world shakes and he closes his eyes and finally sleeps.

 

~

 

He blinks his eyes open to find himself in his parent’s room, warm sunlight streaming in soft hues of pink. His body is exhausted and his mind tired but it’s not from the weary exhaustion that has plagued him for the past…years. He’s waking…blinking away the sleep and the tired, or at least taking a step to. The most notable change is his head, now blessedly light and…free? Is he really free?

He panics as he remembers Envy’s promise that it’d go after Tonlen if it couldn’t have him. He launches himself out of bed only to have a warm hand gently land on his shoulder.

“Shh, kid, you’re okay and so is your brother,” Nabae Uthvir says and Ileth looks up to see them., sharp and comforting and for a moment he strangely wonders if it really is them. They…look different, he thinks, darker and wisps coming off of them…but he blinks and the wisps disappear, just leaving them.

He blinks and leans against them, trying to breathe and recall things, but it’s all fuzzy and entirely too bright. He remembers purple fire and a slick, dark sinking feeling permeating the air as he saw Envy in its true form for the first time.

“Have you seen him?” Ileth asks, his voice ragged and small, but it’s his and his alone. It’s odd to not feel someone constantly whispering in your ear telling you what to do otherwise they’ll possess your sick little brother.

Nabae pulls out their phone and shows him a short video of Tonlen with Kel, Asarla, Eda, and Virevas eating breakfast at Nabae Uthvir and Uncle Thenvunin’s house.

“ _Say hi, Tonlen!”_  Uncle Thenvunin says from behind the camera. Tonlen rolls his eyes but he turns around, grey eyes clear, no refraction or anything and Ileth can suddenly breathe again.

“ _Hi._ ”

“He’s okay,” Ileth says, slumping against his nabae. Their hand gently pets his hair and Ileth turns his head into their chest, breathing and relieved. Envy is gone. His brother is safe.

He’s  _free_.

He exhales a particularly charged breath and Nabae inhales sharply.

“Careful, Ileth, you’re pushing your magic out.”

“I’m sorry!” He says quickly, shoving himself away from his Nabae. How could he be so stupid? He has to watch it, no matter how relieved he is.

But Nabae just sighs and crawls into the bed after him, shifting over so that they’re pulling him back to them.

“Ileth, it’s fine, it happens to all of us. Control is difficult, and you just spent how long with Envy trying to control you and you fighting it?” They ask gently.

Ileth shifts around, looking guiltily away – it’s embarrassing.

“Three years,” he says softly. Nabae Uthvir goes still for a moment before relaxing a little.

“That is a long time, we’ll just have to work a little harder to get you caught up, and there is nothing wrong with that.” They say and he nods, still clinging somewhat to their shirt.

“Nabae?”

“Hmm?”

“Do…do I have to live somewhere else now?” He can’t imagine living with his sick brother and tiny sister like this. He could barely do this when Envy was here and now his magic is all…it feels frayed and cut, oddly shorn into sharp points that really shouldn’t be around children.

Nabae’s hands clutch him a bit closer and they shake their head, “No, you’re still living here with your parents because they still love you. We  _all_  still love you, Ileth. We want to help you.”

If that’s true, why is Nabae here instead of Memae and Papae? Are they afraid of him? He’d be afraid of him too, he…he thinks he hurt people. He hears the sound of a body hitting a wall, a shelf breaking, in his ears suddenly and Nabae runs a sharp finger along his cheek, pulling him back to the moment. Right, talking.

“They’re downstairs right now, making you breakfast. They didn’t want to overwhelm you when you woke up.” Their voice is calm and low and he thinks it was a good idea to have them stay here. He wraps an arm around their midsection and holds them a little tighter for a moment.

“I love you too, kid,” they say and some tension bleeds out of him. Nabae loves him still, that’s one. Maybe Memae and Papae will love him still too.

They slowly guide him off the bed and help brush his hair, wrap him in a thick robe when he suddenly feels cold and exposed. He doesn’t understand half of his emotions but they’re there and so is his nabae, keeping close.

He takes a step out of the room and his skin sizzles with energy for a moment. There was a ward, placed to help keep malicious energy out, he recognizes the pattern on the door frame. He also recognizes the work.

“Is Uncle Aelynthi here too?”

“Yes, he helped set up the wards,” they answer and he nods.

“Aunt Selene?”

“She’s here too, as is your Grandnanae.” They tell him and he stops for a moment, suddenly very wary.

“That’s a lot of people.”

_Am I that dangerous? Are they worried that I’m going to hurt someone? Is Envy going to come back? Can it come back?_

“Everyone is here because they want to make sure you’re okay, not because they’re afraid of you. But if it’s too much, just tell me and we can step back for a while. There’s no shame in that.”

Ileth pauses and takes a deep breath. His head is quiet, which is both a relief and still entirely too nerve wracking. Envy is  _gone_. Gone. Not coming back. He’s safe.

They head downstairs, Nabae Uthvir’s hand resting gently on Ileth’s back. He can feel them keeping their magic coiled tightly to them and he wonders why. It’s probably to not overwhelm him, they’re considerate like that.

When they step into the kitchen, all conversation comes to a halt and eyes turn to them.

He waits for the thoughts to show up. The ones pointing out every flaw they’re seeing. He’s waiting to hear how he isn’t loved, that the only one who loves him is Envy.

Everything is silent.

He opens his mouth and lifts his hand, “Hi?”

Memae’s hand twitches up to her mouth and her eyes crinkle as she smiles at him. Papae is suddenly by him, trembling slightly as he hunches towards Ileth.

“May I hug you, da’vhenan?” He asks and Ileth sucks in a breath before launching himself at his father, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders. Papae holds him tight, letting him hide in his broad chest.

“I’ve got you, son, I’ve got you,” Papae says and Ileth finally lets the last bit of tension roll out of him. His eyes sting and lips tremble as he clutches his father.

“Papae, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, we’re going to make it all okay. It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault.”

Another hand, smaller and gentler, lands on his back and arms comes around him.

“Memae?”

“We love you, Ileth. So much, no matter what. We’re here and we’ll help you through this,” she whispers against him. He sags, unable to support to himself any longer. Papae holds him up though, keeping him close as he cries.

“I-I didn’t w-want i-it t-o hurt, Ton-len,” he wheezes and Memae clutches him.

“ _Oh my brave baby, my caring son,_ ” she says in stilted Orlesian.

“B-brave?” He asks and she nods. How is he brave? He almost let a demon possess him because he wasn’t strong enough to fight it! That isn’t brave that’s…he wanted to keep Tonlen safe, he couldn’t handle being possessed, his lungs couldn’t take it.

“Using yourself to protect someone else  _is_  brave, Ileth,” Aunt Selene says suddenly. He can’t see her but he knows she’s closer. He can feel the odd snap of her magic, the tendrils slinking out to touch him so unlike Nabae Uthvir’s restraint.

He gasps, reminded of blinding purple flames and glowing eyes.

He shrinks away from her magic and his own snaps back at it reflexively. Her magic recoils and regret floods him. No, no, don’t go! He’s sorry, he’s sorry, please Aunt Selene, he’ll do better, don’t leave, don’t leave –

“Ileth, do you need to take a break?” Grandnanae asks suddenly and he peaks up from Papae’s shoulder to see them standing by the island, hair pulled back and face free of makeup. He stares at their eyes, but they look…blurry, faded around the edges, but just at their face. He blinks and they sharpen again but it’s a wavering sharpness, almost like it could fall away any moment.

“I…don’t know?” He says when he realizes he hasn’t answered them.

“Are you hungry? I made pancakes and veggie sausage,” Papae says gently and Memae pets his hair in that soothing way she’s always done. It makes him think of falling asleep to stories about train engines and dragons and spirits and princesses, and he calms, nodding.

“That sounds good,” he replies and Papae pulls away just to guide him up to the counter to pile food high onto his plate.

“Syrup or powdered sugar? Or both? Both, of course,” Papae says, practically shoving the sugar at him.

“Papae, it’s not like I’m Felasel, I don’t constantly crave sugar,” he jokes but he does end up gently sprinkling some sugar over his pancakes after smothering them in syrup. He also grabs some of the cinnamon because it all smells really good all of a sudden.

When he takes the first bite of his pancakes it’s like his body is finally awake and  _starving_. They taste  _so good_ , he can’t remember anything ever tasting this good. He grabs another pancake. More sausage. Asks for milk and that is  _divine_.

“Ileth?” Memae asks, running a tentative hand down his back. He looks up at her and gives her a thumbs up before turning back to his food.

When the pancakes and sausage are gone, he looks up to see everyone staring at him. He folds his hands in his lap and shrinks as much as he can.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Oh da’len, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Memae says, shooting glances at everyone in the room, and one by one they occupy their time with some other task other than looking at him. He leans into his mother and takes a breath.

“I do feel better, just…” he struggles with the word, gesturing vaguely with his hand in the air to somehow express exactly what he feels.

“Do you want to talk about it? Explain to us how you’re feeling?” She asks and he stops, suddenly worried again. Will they understand?

His head is quiet.

He opens his mouth and tries, “It said my magic wasn’t as good as Felasel’s…as Tonlen’s.” His voice stops and he can’t go farther but Memae kisses his cheek.

“Thank you for telling me, I know that must have been very hard.”

“Demons lie, Ileth. They exaggerate truths until there is only a lie left. Your magic is your own and it cannot be compared to anyone’s.” Grandnanae says and Ileth looks over at them to see that their face seems to be…more stable now.

“That’s very true, listen to your Grandnanae, Ileth,” Aunt Selene says and he turns to look at her for the first time today. For a split second he thinks he sees something in her hair? Or on her face? But he blinks and it’s gone.

Weird.

It’s…probably effects of Envy. Other mages are going to look weird, because of the magic and his own magic still feels weird and raw and somehow ripped.

The front door opens and closes and crisp air follows Uncle Aelynthi in as he strolls into the kitchen.

“I brought more supplies, just in case – Ileth. You’re up,” he stops short, and Ileth blinks, waiting for his uncle’s features to shift or glimmer or  _something_. But it’s just his uncle. He’s pale, though and Ileth suspects that he’s been using his blood magic for the wards.

“Yeah.”

“How…how are you feeling?” His uncle is out of breath from just the walk and Ileth sees his grandnanae frown at his uncle.

“Better? I ate and it was good.”

“Good, good,” Uncle Aelynthi nods and sets his bag to the side but keeps his thick jacket on, if not wrapping it more firmly around himself as he shivers. Grandnanae walks over to him and begins to fuss and Ileth smiles as they murmur little healing spells and Aelynthi assures them that he’s absolutely fine.

He doesn’t realize he’s laughing until everyone’s staring at him again.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have laughed, I’m sorry,” he says, quickly stopping himself.

“It’s okay; laugh, it’s funny. Uncle Aelynthi is very funny, not listening to his nanae like that,” Memae says and he tries to smile again. But he feels a little bad too. Memae always said to tell her when he wandered, when he needed something, and he…he didn’t. He didn’t tell her he wandered or that he needed help.

And in the end he didn’t even ask for help. He was somehow discovered. Envy was stripped from him and he’s…bereft and free at the same time.

Memae’s hand falls on his hair again, pulling him back to what’s happening around him.

“Would you like to watch a movie, da’len? Anything you want.”

What does he want? That’s…harder than he’d thought it’d be. So far today’s choices haven’t been full choices, just…offered paths that he’s walked down. Going downstairs, hugging Papae, eating the pancakes….

“What about  _Kiki’s Delivery Service_? You’ve always like that one,” Papae says suddenly and yes, that sounds good, so Ileth nods his head. Everyone migrates into the living room and essentially coalesces into a protective circle around Ileth. Grandnanae continues to tut over Uncle Aelynthi and finally gets him to drink what looks like potion meets smoothie. Ileth wrinkles his nose at the color and the weird viscosity. Ewww.

“Uncle Aelynthi, why did you become a blood mage if the recovery sucks so much?” He asks suddenly.

“It’s normally not like this,” his uncle answers and Ileth’s ears droop. Oh. Normally he doesn’t use this much blood but because of the demon and –

“Ileth, it’s not your fault that I did what I did. I chose to use that much blood and that is  _not your fault or choice_.”

Ileth isn’t so sure about it because his uncle wouldn’t be in so much pain if it weren’t for Ileth. But the movie clicks on then and he settles in against his papae and tries to forget for a little while that he was nearly possessed and now his uncle is pale and in pain. That his nabae is quiet and so restrained, and only flickering out of the corner of his eye. Aunt Selene sits as far away from as she can because she thinks she has to after his stupid barrier. He wants to apologize but no one wants to hear his apologies anymore. So he stays quiet.

He cries when Kiki can’t fly, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he feels himself feel a kinship with the girl on the screen. His magic’s defective too, but maybe…maybe he can fix it. Patch in the holes and tie up the frayed edges.

Kiki can fly by the end of the movie and Ileth wonders if he can control his magic by the end of his story too.

The day drags on and he sees Aunt Selene, Nabae Uthvir, and Grandnanae Melarue slowly come together to talk in low heated discussion about something. Uncle Aelynthi teaches him a warding spell that doesn’t require blood to really help keep away demons and it helps.

He can still do magic, and his uncle is still willing to teach him. He remembers the little lights he first made with his uncle, how he knew that his magic didn’t have to hurt anyone.

But he did hurt someone, he hurt his aunt, once by throwing her against a wall, and again when he put a barrier up. He stands up from his spot on the floor where Aelynthi is teaching him.

“Where’re you going?”

“I need to do something,” Ileth says before heading downstairs to where his aunt and nabae and grandnanae all are. His aunt is leaning against a wall, arms wrapped around herself. He sees a flash of purple before he blinks and it disappears again. It’s getting easier to ignore the little flashes and the odd magical feelings he gets when around them.

“Aunt Selene?” He asks and she turns towards him, and for a moment he thinks she does look like him, but not like how Envy said. She just…he…they look alike.

“Ileth, how are you?”

“Fine. Can I talk to you?” He asks and she nods quickly while they move into the dining room.

“What’s on your mind, da’len?”

Ileth paces and stops, shifts on his feet then looks down at the floor.

“I want to apologize for hurting you, I-I didn’t mean to but that’s not an excuse, I know…I shouldn’t have put the barrier up. I was scared and I don’t know what I’m doing anymore and,” and he’s crying again. This was not supposed to happen! But his emotions are all over the place.

_Because of Envy. It’s all its fault. It did this. It did this!_

Aunt Selene shushes him and pulls him close to her. There’s an odd sizzle of her magic but it fades almost instantaneously as she pulls him into the hug.

“Da’len, you didn’t hurt me. I understand, I understand  _so well_. Demons…they haunt you, that’s what they do. One followed me for years, talking to me and telling me things and…I understand. And it really isn’t your fault. I just wish I could have protected you better.”

He leans against her, crying softly, face red and splotchy getting her shirt all wet. But she doesn’t push him away.

She…she had a demon like him? And she was okay? She is okay now, her magic is strong and she has a good life, he thinks. She’s happy….

“How…does it get easier?” He asks and she tenses for a moment before sighing.

“Yes, but there are some bad days, but eventually the good days outnumber the bad ones, and even when you have bad days, we’re here.  _I’m_  here, always.”

Ileth nods and leans against her and takes a deep breath. He…he is going to be fine, he thinks. He will get better, work on his control. Maybe Olwyn can help him, she’s good with control. He won’t be scary, because he’s not a monster and he doesn’t hurt people, but that doesn’t make him weak either.

He isn’t what Envy said he was.


	52. Halloween Special

Thenvunin wakes to the sensation of the mattress beside him moving; dipping downwards, blankets rustling as someone little crawls across the opposite side.

“Papae,” a tiny voice whispers, and he rolls over.

It’s morning. He can tell by the light, though, that it might just barely be that. Uthvir’s side of the bed is empty of Uthvir. Instead he sees a golden mess of hair and big green eyes, as his youngest daughter peers at him, smiling broadly.

“Hmm?” he asks, rolling over a little more. What time is it?

“Papae, it’s  _candy day,”_  Virevas informs him, with all the quiet reverence and barely-contained excitement a four-year-old might manage for a holiday the revolves entirely around costumes and sugar.

Thenvunin lets out a breath, and brushes some of her messy hair away from her face. He turns and looks at the clock. Five a.m., and he didn’t get in until after ten last night, because one of the families he’s working with had a minor emergency with their elderly resident. And they called him, of course, because the last time they called the police and that… hadn’t gone well.

Virevas wriggles closer, as his eyes slide shut again. She closes a tiny hand around his collar and gives him an impatient shake.

“Papae!” she says, with a huff. “Wake up, we have to make sure all the costumes are good!”

Thenvunin slings an arm around her, pulling her in for a cuddle instead.

“The costumes are fine, da’vhenan,” he murmurs. “It’s too early still.”

His daughter huffs again and wriggles, making some protest that he doesn’t quite catch. The bedroom door creaks as it opens a bit wider, and Thenvunin doesn’t even need to look to register his spouse’s steps. The mattress dips a little again.

“Nanae, I want to wear my dragon suit!” Virevas says, no longer bothering to whisper.

“Shh,” Uthvir tells her, quietly. “No costumes before breakfast, baby bee. Why don’t you come help me make it? Papae had a late night, he needs some more sleep.”

“But why can’t I-“

“Shh, shh, let’s talk about it in the kitchen.”

Thenvunin sighs as Uthvir gently plucks Virevas out of his grasp, one of their hands rubbing across his shoulder in a brief, reassuring touch, before they take their daughter back out of the room. Thenvunin hears her little voice disappear down the hall, cushioned by Uthvir’s own low tones, and lets out a sigh. The bed is still warm, and his brain is still mostly fogged over; it’s not a challenge to roll back to his other side, and drift off to sleep again.

The next time he feels the mattress dip, a hand curls overtop of the blankets, around his hip. And a familiar pair of lips press against his own.

A pleasantly warm feeling of affection unfurls in his chest.

“Morning, babe,” Uthvir says.

“Time is it?” Thenvunin mumbles, before he gets kissed again. Hm. That’s nice.

“Seven o’clock,” they inform him. “I made ghost-shaped pancakes. Want to come have some?”

Seven? Wasn’t Virevas just in here? Thenvunin wakes up a little more, wondering how Uthvir managed to distract her from coming back in again. It wouldn’t have taken two hours to make pancakes. He hopes she’s not sulking, it  _is_  supposed to be a fun day for children, after all.

“How are the girls?” he asks.

“Eda’s still waking up. Kel’s watching cartoons with Virevas,” Uthvir says. “The pancakes are keeping warm, if you want to take a few minutes.” Their tone lowers, a little, and their lips twist right before they lean in for another kiss. Pressing their tongue between his own, and Thenvunin sighs into it, before he remembers morning breath.

Then he starts batting them away.

“Uthvir!” he scolds. “Don’t – don’t you – we have a lot to do today, there’s a party and the trick-or-treating to organize and –“

He blinks over at his spouse, who is grinning with far too much amusement, and lets out a long, disgruntled huff.

“ _Behave,”_  he insists.

They raise an eyebrow at him.

“Really, Thenvunin, kissing my husband in bed is  _hardly_  untoward behaviour,” they say, but they do slink back. Which is good, because everything Thenvunin said is true; even if a non-insubstantial part of him just wants them to press forward again, instead. But the door is still open a crack, and the girls are awake, and pancakes won’t keep forever. Virevas is probably two seconds away from wanting into her costume again, and so Thenvunin firmly tells his unruly libido to stop letting Uthvir’s teasing get to it, and forces himself out of bed.

Uthvir withdraws, going to check as they both hear Eda’s bedroom door open. And Thenvunin listens for just a moment, to confirm nothing unexpected has happened, before heading into the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and gets through the first step of his usual morning hair care routine, throwing on one of his comfortable robes before making his way back out again, and into the main hub of their new city apartment.

Kel is, indeed, watching cartoons with Virevas.

Who is wearing her dragon costume.

Thenvunin looks at Uthvir, but they just shrug.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out how to put it on her,” they say. “And it  _is_  a holiday.”

“Rawr!” Virevas exclaims, lifting up her little hands. Which are covered in tiny, claw-shaped gloves. The costume is done in shining layers of scales and sparkles, a rainbow of colours not shooting anywhere close to realism, but she looks absolutely adorable in it with her pigtails sticking out of the sides and her little candy bucket already firmly ensconced at her side.

“Good morning, Papae!” Kel greets, in turn, as Eda shuffles out of the hall bathroom, and waves. Virevas lets out another ‘rawr’, and wriggles around, and ‘attacks’ her sister. Thenvunin frowns for a moment; but Kel just laughs at the pounce, and then captures the little dragon and starts kissing the top of her head; ignoring her protests that ‘dragons don’t get  _kisses’._

Eda retrieves her chalkboard from the drawer by the fridge, and then goes and joins her sisters, as Uthvir pulls out the pancakes and tells them they’ve got a few minutes and then they need to head to the table.

Thenvunin looks at his family, and lets out a happy sigh.

This day is going to be  _utter chaos._

~

The first major event of the day is Serahlin’s ‘Spooky Lunch’, which is followed by a scavenger hunt for the kids that all number of people have helped set up. Virevas’ costume has to  _last_  her the whole day if she is going to  _wear it_  the whole day, which she seems very intent upon, so Thenvunin makes her wear a bib and helps her with her breakfast, ensuring she doesn’t get any syrup on her scales.

“I don’t know if I wanna go to the lunch,” Kel says.

Thenvunin pauses in the midst of cutting up pancake, and cranes back to look at her.

“What? Why not?” he asks. “Are you not feeling well?”

“No, I’m fine!” she assures him, before he can manage to turn away and press a hand to her forehead. “It’s just… don’t you think I’m getting a little old for it?”

Thenvunin’s insides lurch, just a little, at the comment. Too old for it? But she’s still just a baby, he thinks; even as he realizes, at once, that the comment won’t be welcome. But still. She’s only  _fourteen,_  that’s barely old enough to babysit. Certainly not old enough to start deciding that fun things are no longer appropriate.

“What are you talking about?” Uthvir says, mercifully taking over as Thenvunin dithers. “Your papae and I are going and we are  _much_  older than you.”

“Yeah but… the twins aren’t going,” Kel declares. “They’re going to the haunted house at the city’s center. And Isabela’s helping with the fair at the school. And Olwyn’s got magic lessons, and she said she wasn’t going to skip it, so it’s just going to be me and Ileth and all the younger kids, and our parents. And that’s… a little lame? For us, I mean. Not that you guys are lame. Just, y’know. When you get to a certain age, doing everything with your parents starts to seem that way.”

Thenvunin frowns, and feels a pang. Surely Kel isn’t  _this_  old yet? He tries not to think about his own opinions on hanging out with parents when he was fourteen. That was different. He was over-compensating because of his added restrictions, he’s sure.

“Well, did you have an alternative in mind?” Uthvir asks, seemingly unruffled by this sudden twist to their usual plans. It’s been the same for years, really. Lunch party, scavenger hunt, then Dirthamen’s costume party, then trick-or-treating, followed by the inevitable wrangling of sugar-high children getting worked up over scary stories, and bed.

“I was thinking maybe I could go to the haunted house, with the twins,” Kel admits. “It’s supposed to be really cool.”

Uthvir glances at him, and all Thenvunin lets out a breath.

“Eda, could you help Virevas for a moment?” he asks.

Eda nods, easily enough, as Virevas loudly protests that she’s big enough to cut her own pancakes  _and_  she wants bacon, while Thenvunin turns to Kel.

“Are you sure you want to go to the haunted house?” he asks. “It’s going to be scary. And crowded. There are a lot of flashing lights and things, I’m surprised Selene and Dirthamen let Felasel go, there’s usually more magic than not and it can be very overwhelming.”

Kel sighs.

“That was last year, Papae. This year it’s supposed to be much better, which is  _why_  the twins are going,” she says. “Plus it’s not like nobody’s going to be there. Aunt Selene will be there, and obviously so will Darevas and Felasel, and Maibrit’s going, too. So please? Can I go?”

Thenvunin crumbles a bit at the ‘please’, and hesitates. He wants her to come along for their usual lunch, wants them all to go as a family. But she  _is_  getting older, he knows, and it’s normal for teenagers – even very young teenagers who are barely teenagers at all really – to want to branch off on their own.

“I suppose…” he allows, and Kel beams and leans over to hug him.

“Thank you!” she exclaims, and that almost makes it worth it.

“I’ll phone Selene, and see if she minds keeping an eye on you,” Uthvir says. “I can drop you off before we have to go to the lunch.”

“I can walk, it’s not like it’s far,” Kel tells them.

Uthvir gives her a look.

“And who would walk with you?” they ask.

It earns them just the slightest sigh.

“Nanae. I’m fourteen, I can handle a twenty minute walk on my own,” she declares.

Uthvir’s expression shifts, just slightly. Twitching, and Thenvunin feels a note of concern, before they draw in a breath and shake their head.

“Fourteen is still too young for that,” they insist. “A twenty minute walk isn’t a long drive.”

“Yeah but it’ll take  _forever_  to find parking,” Kel points out.

“If your aunt meets us, then I won’t need to. Don’t test this,” Uthvir tells her, and their tone goes unexpectedly sharp.

Eda’s hands still for a moment where she’s getting a forkful of pancakes up, and Virevas goes quiet. And Kel hesitates, and even Thenvunin wonders at the sudden shift in their approach. Normally Uthvir is quite capable of meeting their daughters’ arguments placidly and without irritation. Though they’ve always been very firm on enforcing the buddy system and not letting the girls go off alone, it’s never struck him as an unreasonable thing.

And it still doesn’t, really.

Perhaps they’re just in a bit of a mood, after a morning spent wrangling their youngest’s excitement.

“Sorry, Nanae,” Kel says.

Uthvir’s expression eases, and they incline their head.

“It’s alright,” they assure her. “I’ll call Selene. Do you still want to come to the costume party?”

Thenvunin worries, for a moment; but Kel nods at that, and he supposes it makes sense, since most everyone really is going to that. He leans over and kisses her cheek for good measure, and then takes over Virevas’ breakfast – and his own – and urges Eda to get plenty to eat, because even on holidays children can’t actually survive on sugar and chocolate alone.

Selene has no objections to Kel going along with the twins; and since they’re all attending the costume party, promises to bring her back with them, and to make certain she has something decent to eat, too. Virevas decides she wants a more ‘dragon-y’ hairstyle, so Thenvunin scoops her up and brings her along while he handles his own, exchanging her sparkly hair elastics for ones with big shining baubles instead.

Uthvir helps Eda with her own costume – most of it’s simple but the fairy wings are a bit tricky, so they come and get Thenvunin for that – while Kel insists that she can handle herself. And she can, really, the vampire costume’s not that fussy, he supposes. She goes into her room and comes out with sharp fangs and a flowing cape.

Uthvir grins at her false teeth, and shows off their own.

“Looks like we match,” they tell her, ruffling her hair; and that seems to be the end of the tensions between them.

It’s not until after Uthvir’s dropped Kel off, and they’re getting into the car to go to lunch, that Virevas starts kicking up another fuss.

“Where’s Kel?” she demands, as Thenvunin buckles her into her carseat.

“Kel’s playing with the twins,” he tells her.

“At the lunch?” Virevas asks.

“No, they’re with Aunt Selene somewhere else,” he explains, frowning as he wonders if the adjustments he needs to make to the car seat straps to accommodate her suit mean that it’s still safe. Maybe she should take it off for the drive? But that will be another fuss; he glances at Uthvir, as they get in behind the wheel, and they catch his eye in the rearview mirror.

“It’s extra padding,” they say, evidently guessing his dilemma.

“Where’s somewhere else?” Virevas demands, and Thenvunin grins at her.

“Just somewhere for the older children,” he says. “Are you looking forward to showing Varawell and Asarla your dragon costume?”

“Rawr!” Virevas automatically declares, lifting her hands again.

That distraction works until they’ve been on the road for about five minutes.

“Are we gonna get Kel?” Virevas asks.

“Not yet, baby bee, she’s coming later,” Uthvir replies. And then blessedly Eda intervenes, pulling up her chalkboard and getting Virevas to take off her gloves for a moment so that they can draw whorls and patterns on it together while they drive. Virevas talks enough for two as the car trundles along Arlathan’s streets, and Thenvunin frowns a bit at the clouds overhead. Rain might spoil the children’s fun. Especially if it ends up pouring later, when the trick-or-treating starts.

The weather manages to hold as they get to the lunch venue, however. One of the city’s accommodating restaurants has set themselves up with a spooky theme and spooky theme and similar menu. The room they’ve booked is big enough for everyone, but the establishment is still quite crowded. Thenvunin keeps Eda close under one arm while Uthvir carries Virevas, and they make their way through the din of people – costumed and not – until their server gets them towards the row of pushed-together tables in back.

Serahlin and Adannar and their kids are already present, as is Tasallir. Though it looks like Ana, Vena, and  _their_  kids are a little behind him. The adults are un-costumed, as usual for this part of the proceedings, but also as usual, the children have pulled theirs on. Ileth makes for a very striking werewolf again this year, and Asarla is an adorable little kitty cat, and Tonlen is…

Thenvunin blinks.

“Tonlen, are you  _Melarue?”_  he asks.

Tonlen beams from the midst of his costume, which appears to be one of Melarue’s more iconic roles; his huge, false eyelashes glittering along with the rest of the impressive ensemble.

“Do you like it, Uncle Thenvunin? Memae helped!” he exclaims.

“You look wonderful,” Thenvunin assures him, and then makes certain to compliment all the other children as well, as Uthvir gets Virevas into her booster seat, and Eda claims a chair next to Ileth.

“Where’s Kel?” Ileth wonders.

“She decided she wanted to go to the haunted house with the twins,” Thenvunin explains.

Ileth pauses, and then frowns.

“I didn’t know that was an option!” he says. “That sounds cool. Memae, can I go?”

Serahlin frowns in turn, and that starts a new discussion and mild argument as it’s pointed out that they’re already to go for lunch – but not everyone has arrived yet, and the haunted house isn’t very far away, and after a few minutes of cajoling and debating that reminds Thenvunin of the conversation that morning, Serahlin texts Selene and finally declares that Ileth can go, as long as he behaves himself and makes certain he has something to eat.

Uthvir frowns as Ileth gets up from the table.

“I’ll drop him off,” they declare.

Ileth blinks at them.

“It’s okay, Nabae, it’s only down the road and just off mainstreet; Aunt Selene said she’d meet me by the gate,” he declares.

“He’ll be fine, he knows the way,” Serahlin assures them, but to Thenvunin’s surprise, Uthvir insists.

“I have an errand I forgot to do anyway. It’s right next door, I’ll just take him and be back in a minute,” they say.

And Thenvunin can’t think of a single thing they’d need to do, but it sounds perfectly reasonable on the outside. They pat Ileth’s shoulder and start asking him about his costume, as the two of them leave the restaurant, and Thenvunin is so distracted by the repeat oddity – another echo from breakfast – that he misses the warning signs until Virevas lets out a loud noise of protest.

“I want to go!” she declares.

Thenvunin leans over, and shushes her.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks, stopping her from worming out of her chair. What is this? Why are all of his daughters suddenly abandoning ship?

“I want to with Nanae!” she insists. “Nanae anda big kids!”

“Hush, no, it’s okay da’vhenan, Nanae’s coming right back,” Thenvunin tells her, and then he has to devote most of his energy to making sure she doesn’t throw a fit over it. Asarla stares at Virevas in that wide-eyed way she usually tends to, when this happens, like she can’t quite believe her cousin’s capacity for volume.

“Hey, I know!” Adannar says, just when things look to be on the verge of dissolving into tears. “Let’s order ice cream first!”

Virevas immediately stops fussing.

Serahlin raises an eyebrow at her husband, but all Thenvunin can feel is a rush of gratitude; and she doesn’t voice a word of objection, anyway, when Adannar plucks up the desert menu, and gets the remaining children to cluster around him at the table, trying to decide which on they should pick out to share.

They’re still at it by the time Uthvir gets back. And then Aelynthi and Victory arrive, with Lasair, who is dressed up as a pokemon that Thenvunin doesn’t know. But she looks very cute, and she exclaims over the girls’ costumes while Aelynthi compliments Tonlen.

Victory thinks the desserts are an excellent idea, and sets about helping the kids pick until Ana and Vena finally arrive, with Rissa and Varawell; Rissa in her alien costume, and Varawell done up as a tiny bunch of grapes.

Thenvunin is sure that is some kind of terrible joke, and also that he doesn’t want to ask Venavismi what it is.

“When he’s older he has to spend at least one year as a bottle of wine,” Vena announces, anyway, even though no one asked.

Varawell seems to be taking this insistence with his usual brand of tiny stoicism.

“Okay,” he says, simply, and then blinks as Virevas roars at him.

Thenvunin stares at some of the empty seats around the table, and lets out a breath.

“I don’t suppose Dirthamen is coming?” he guesses.

Serahlin shakes her head.

“He’s still setting up some things for the costume party,” she confirms. Then she draws in a breath, and smiles at the children. “Which means that all  _those_  silly people who aren’t here are going to miss out on chocolate fudge coffin brownies!”

This declaration does seem to mollify the younger children a bit. Thenvunin lets Eda and Virevas pick whatever they want for their lunches, and Rissa becomes convinced that Isabela’s going to be mad she missed the lunch to go do  _school things_  when all of the kids’ meals come in pirate ship boxes, flying tiny skull flags over their chicken fingers and hot dogs and fries.

They get through most of the meal, chatting and trying to keep the littler ones from being loud enough to disrupt the rest of the restaurant, when Asarla’s little voice breaks a lull in the conversations.

“Where’s Ileth?” she asks.

“Ileth’s with the twins and Kel, sweetie,” Adannar tells her.

“Where?”

“Just down the street,” he declares, and Thenvunin’s distracted enough that he almost doesn’t notice Virevas getting halfway out of her chair, until Uthvir calmly reaches over and scoops her into their lap, instead.

“Where you going, baby bee?” they ask.

“Down the street,” she tells them.

“Hmm. I don’t think so. I think you’d scare too many people, dragons aren’t supposed to go rampaging through downtown Arlathan,” they reason.

“I’m not a  _real_  dragon, Nanae,” Virevas declares, suddenly impatient with it, now.

“Well,  _I_  know that, and  _you_  know that-“

“Nanae!” Virevas protests, wriggling and huffing until Uthvir gives her a Look, and she settles down.

“Want to help me eat my fries?”

“No!”

“Suit yourself. They’re really good,” Uthvir informs her, and plucks one up to start eating it. And after a minute, Virevas’s stubborn resolve begins to crack, just a bit; and she reaches over, and snatches one off of their plate, and settles down again.

At which point Varawell finishes his own, relatively unnoticed escape, and climbs under the tables.

“Vara!” Tonlen protests. “You’re gonna squish your grapes!”

For some reason, Venavismi sees fit to burst into boisterous laughter at that, and Thenvunin lets out a long sigh.

And they haven’t even attempted the scavenger hunt yet.

~

In the end, though, the hunt requires a little less wrangling than the lunch did; probably because the children are busily searching for items on their lists, in the various backyards appointed for the tasks, and that distracts them from wanting to go hunt down wayward older siblings or ask to be let into events meant for bigger children.

Or at least, it keeps the Tiny Trio well occupied. Rissa and Tonlen get cranky about halfway through, self-conscious of the sedate pace of things, however, and Lasair and Eda keep wandering off, chasing after frogs and lizards and birds and stray cats, and in general giving Thenvunin and Aelynthi minor heartattacks every time they turn around and find them gone.

Though Uthvir always, unfailingly, seems to know where they are.

But things pick up a little bit more by the end, as the older kids start in on competing with one another. Eda manages to find the fewest scavenger items but the most wild bird nests, which she scribbles to Thenvunin is better anyway, while the Tiny Trio quibble over prizes and Rissa triumphantly holds up her completed list of items.

Spirits are blessedly high as everyone makes their way home again, to get ready for the costume party.

Virevas decides she wants to help him put on his costume, so Thenvunin sets her up in his walk-in with her little play jewellery box as he starts changing into the Dashing Prince. She declares it her dragon’s hoard, and gets distracted from ‘helping’ by imagining pretend villagers coming and getting incinerated as they try and steal things.

Thenvunin’s just finished attaching his crown when he realizes that he can’t hear her anymore.

A glance over reveals that her jewellery box has been abandoned.

“Virevas?” he calls.

No answer.

With a sigh he steps out of his closet, and then frowns as he sees the abandoned dragon costume sitting on the floor of the master bedroom. He hears Uthvir in the bathroom, and pushes the door open a little to check, but there’s no Virevas in there with them.

Scooping up the dragon costume, Thenvunin sets out into the hall. Eda’s watching some monster-themed specials on television; she catches his eye and then points over at the hall bathroom, and Thenvunin goes in and finds his youngest daughter standing on the little stool, globbing white finger paint onto her cheeks.

“Virevas!” he says, setting down the dragon costume where it won’t get damaged. “What are you doing?”

“Putting on my costume!” she says, and frowns as Thenvunin grabs some wipes, and starts trying to clean up the mess of paint.

He tuts.

“But you just took  _off_  your costume!” he notes.

“I don’t wanna be a dragon anymore,” Virevas informs him. “I wanna be a vampire!”

Thenvunin blinks, and hesitates a little, before he starts wiping her cheeks. She squirms and protests.

“No, Papae, I’m a vampire!”

“I’m sorry, da’vhenan, but this isn’t the right kind of paint for that. It will just flake off when it dries,” he explains. “You can be a vampire next time, if you want. Is this because of Kel?”

“No!” Virevas exclaims, still squirming.

“Because she’s going to be at the costume party with us,” he promises.

“No, no, no!” Virevas insists, though she seems to be talking more about his attempts at cleaning her up, and then before Thenvunin can catch it she squirms down and ducks under his arm and goes tearing down the hall, shrieking about being a vampire.

Oh, this is going to be difficult.

He doesn’t have a  _vampire_  costume for her.

Maybe they can approximate something? He scoops up the dragon costume again, and sighs over the tiny splotches of white fingerpaint that are dotting the carpet, now. Virevas rushes into the sitting room and ducks behind Eda, as Thenvunin heads towards her, but Eda’s sharp enough to see that she’s liable to get paint splatters on her costume – somehow she’s managed to keep it all relatively clean; thank goodness, it’s one of the ones his mother made – and she moves out of the way.

“Gah!” Virevas says, and darts around, and then starts giggling instead of protesting as she worms away from him again and makes a mad dash for the master bedroom.

“ _Virevas,”_  Thenvunin protests. He still hasn’t finished getting his  _own_  costume on.

She’s gone back down the hall, though, so there’s only one way for her to come out again. He marches down, telling himself he’s got to consider being  _firm._

But when he gets to the bedroom, it’s empty; and he can hear Virevas and Uthvir’s voices from the bathroom, instead.

“-a vampire dragon?” Uthvir is saying.

“Are those real?” Virevas asks.

“I doubt it, but that’s half the fun.”

Thenvunin peers in through the doorway, to find that Virevas has been captured and secured into sitting on the bathroom counter. Uthvir has finished the make-up for their own, relatively mild bandit costume, and looks to be about half dressed.

As Thenvunin watches, they pick up a wipe from beside the sink.

“Vampire dragons aren’t pale,” they declare. “They’re deep, dark red, just like most of the scales on your dragon costume. And they have fangs. I think I have an eyeliner pencil that will work. You want me to draw fangs on you, baby bee?”

“Fangs!” Virevas exclaims, reaching for her Nanae’s mouth. They obligingly show theirs off. Virevas mirrors the expression, and Thenvunin smiles at how cute they’re being.

And then gasps as his daughter’s teeth change shape.

“Rawr!” she exclaims, gnashing them a little.

Uthvir hesitates for just a beat, before reaching over and bopping her nose.

“Well look at that!” They say. “We don’t need the eyeliner pencil after all. Baby bee’s got her own fangs.”

Virevas turns, and looks in the mirror, and her grin widens hugely.

“Look, Nanae!” she says, and reaches up to touch them.

“Careful,” Uthvir tells her. “They’re sharp. Don’t bite your tongue, or your finger.”

Thenvunin feels faint, for a moment; but then Uthvir presses their own finger against the tips of Virevas’ teeth, and they mustn’t be as sharp as her nanae’s, thankfully, because they don’t draw blood.

It only lasts for a moment, as well, but Virevas seems pleased enough about it that she forgets entirely about being a vampire.

When Thenvunin recovers from his shock, he manages to get her back into the dragon costume again. Virevas gnashing her tiny baby teeth and trying to repeat the process, not really seeming to notice whether it works or not. Which is fine enough; she’s an imaginative child, and as long as she’s happy, Thenvunin doubts anyone will bother telling her that her teeth are still blunt.

After a few minutes they manage to get her settled in watching the television specials with Eda, and only when she can’t see does Thenvunin let himself feel a bit faint.

Virevas is a mage.

Virevas is a  _shape-shifter._

Virevas is  _four._

“It’s alright,” Uthvir says, reaching for him. “She’s alright. She’s just the same as she was twenty minutes ago.”

“I know,” he says. “I know, it’s just – she’s – that was  _amazing!”_

Uthvir grins a little, as he feels the rush of it all over again. They’re going to have to start getting her so many specialized lessons, now. Will she need dance lessons? Will she be able to make things like  _wings?_  Just like Uthvir? Oh, she’s going to have to learn how to coordinate herself carefully, they’ll need to keep a close eye to make certain she doesn’t shift anything too dramatically and hurt herself.

But this is…

“Was it like that when you first did it?” Thenvunin wonders.

Uthvir blinks.

“The teeth?” they ask. “No, I didn’t start sharpening my teeth until I was Kel’s age. The first thing I did was turn into a bird.”

Oh.

Right.

Thenvunin knew that. About them being in school, when their magic came in. And it was the more usual way, he recalls, they didn’t start shapeshifting until afterwards.

“Does this mean she’s a prodigy?” he wonders.

Uthvir shrugs.

“Almost definitely. I’ve never heard of anyone that young doing a partial body modification. I wouldn’t go telling people, though, not unless they need to know. Being a prodigy never really did Glory any favours. Or any of the others I’ve met, actually.”

Thenvunin nods, willing to take their word on that front. He supposes it doesn’t really matter, anyway. He’s always known their children are amazing.

“You should finish putting on your costume, Prince Charming,” Uthvir tells him, leaning in a little and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He lets out a long breath.

“Should we cancel?” he wonders.

Uthvir shakes their head.

“No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Virevas conks right out after dinner. That probably took more energy than she realized,” they say. “She might miss trick-or-treating.”

Thenvunin tuts in sympathy. They’ll have to get her some candy anyway, if that happens, to soften the blow.

Something else about the conversation sticks with him, though, as he finally does as suggested, and gets up and starts finishing his costume. Uthvir didn’t start sharpening their teeth until they were Kel’s age. For some reason, he keeps thinking about it. Even though it makes perfect sense; most children start going through their ‘edgy’ phase in their teen years. Goodness knows it’s hit the eldest children in their group fairly hard, just look at Felasel’s  _hair,_  or turn on one of Isabela’s MP3 players.

On balance he supposes that the only oddity about it, really, is that Uthvir decided to keep the teeth forever afterwards. But even then, Thenvunin discovered plenty of things he’s enjoyed ever since when he was younger. And they’re just so very  _Uthvir,_  sometimes he forgets that they aren’t entirely natural.

And, well.  _He_  certainly… doesn’t object to them.

That gets his thoughts going in entirely the wrong direction, however, as he recollects some of the places where those teeth have pressed against his skin, and firmly instructs himself to  _focus._  He is going to be wearing  _tights._

…Possibly the tights are a bad idea.

But it’s too late to change it, now, so he just focuses on thinking about other things, and finishes getting ready.

Uthvir makes for a very striking bandit, in turn, when he walks back out into the bedroom. They go and get the girls, and head off for the costume party, while Virevas makes vampire dragon noises and Eda scribbles costume scores on her chalkboard, and asks if there’s going to be bobbing for apples.

~

By the time they get to Dirthamen’s party, Kel and Ileth and the twins are there.

So are Aelynthi and Victory, and Olwyn and Lasair. Everyone all in costume, Aelynthi dressed as some obscure artist from eighty years ago, Victory done up as a gladiator again. Dithamen looks to be Zorro, while Selene is a character from a move that Thenvunin  _knows_ but, embarrassingly, can’t actually recall the name of. He spends most of the first few minutes of the evening trying not to let on.

She looks very nice, anyway, so it isn’t hard to find compliments.

He sweeps his eldest into his arms as they’re reunited.

“Did you have a fun time?” he asks.

She lets out a sigh.

“Nah,” she says. “I mean some of it was okay, but you were kind of right. It was really crowded and they hadn’t really made all the improvements they said they had, and Felasel threw up halfway through.”

Felasel gives her a look.

“Thank you, Kel,” he says. “That was discrete.”

“In my defence, it was actually pretty much the most  _spectacular_  time you’ve vomited,” she insists, turning away from Thenvunin. “I don’t think you’ve ever done projectiles before. And you knocked the flickering disco spider right out of its nest, you can’t tell me you didn’t aim that on purpose. I don’t think you should be embarrassed, it was cool.”

Felasel inclines his head in what seems to be reluctant agreement, and Thenvunin sighs over the children.

But then there’s the buffet, and punch and hot chocolate, and dancing and comparing costumes, and gourd carving and everyone being together and getting along. Virevas spends approximately two seconds trying to snub Kel before she switches to explaining about her being a vampire dragon, and Melarue and Kass turn up with Ash, so Tonlen gets to ask for a review of his costume from its actual inspiration. Ana, Tasallir, and Vena all come to the party in shockingly authentic ancient Arlathan theater garb, and at one point Thenvunin finds Eda crouching under the outdoor punch table handing crackers to a lemur, and has to remind her again that  _wild animals_  are not  _friends._

Virevas does, as predicted, start running out of steam at around six o’clock. Thenvunin scoops her up, as she sleepily protests. The trick-or-treating is set to start at seven, so he has a quick word with Dirthamen and then takes her inside to nap in one of the spare rooms, just in case that’s enough for her and she wakes up in hour, raring to go

Of course, Thenvunin knows his youngest, so he stays in the room with her, lest she wake up and sneak off to ‘borrow’ things throughout the house.

It’s almost pleasant, though. He tucks his baby into the bed, and settles against the wall, and listens to her little breaths as he checks his messages on his phone. After a few minutes he hears the firecrackers start to go off in back, and moves over to the window just to make sure everyone is being properly supervised.

He sees Olwyn and Ash making extra sparks for the display, and smiles at the girls.

A few minutes later, the door to the room open, and Uthvir sticks their head in.

Thenvunin raises a finger to his lips, and tilts his head towards Virevas.

They nod. But rather than going back to the party, they slip into the room. Closing the door behind them as they make their way over, gently peering down at their daughter, before moving to where Thenvunin is still standing by the window. They slide their arms around his waist, and follow his gaze through the window.

“She’ll do just fine, with her magic,” they say, quietly.

“It’s not really something I can help her with,” Thenvunin worries.

He hadn’t even realized he was worrying about it. But Uthvir just hums at him.

“Of course it is,” they tell him. “You help me all the time.  _You’ll_  do just fine with her magic, too, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The two of them watch as the other mage children join in on making their own fireworks, while the rest start calling out suggestions, setting into two little circles of performers and ‘audience’ members as they play. Ileth sends a tumbling wave of shining bubbles down from one of the bright explosions, and Asarla laughs and starts chasing after them.

Thenvunin turns a little, and presses his lips to Uthvir’s forehead.

“I help you?” he wonders.

Uthvir just hums, again, in the affirmative. And then they go quiet enough that he thinks he’s not going to get any better answer out of them; not without making too much fuss to be had next to a sleeping four-year-old, anyway.

But then they speak, again. Low and secretive.

“You make me want to hold on to myself. No matter what,” they confess.

Thenvunin swallows.

For a mage, he knows, that’s… that’s important.

“I’m glad,” he tells them.

They hum again, and then go back to watching the party carrying on outside.


	53. Eda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Eda belongs to palindromekomori/Hannah)

Kel is thirteen years old when her Papae brings Eda home with him.

She wakes up in the morning to her nanae gently brushing their shoulder. Murmuring explanations of a girl who’s going to be staying with them; someone from Papae’s work, who just went through something terrible. Nanae’s not one to omit relevant details, and Kel sits up and feels herself go cold as the basics of the story unfold. A terrible man attacked Eda, and then attacked her family, and now he’s dead but so are the younger girl’s parents.

“I’m sorry, baby, I know we were going to go to the lake this weekend, but we might have to push it back,” Nanae tells her.

She shakes her head.

“No, it’s fine,” she says. “…What do I say to her?”

Kel’s never known much suffering. She’s had a good life, she knows. She sees news reports, and hears stories. Her papae doesn’t like to talk about the details of his work with her. He still wants to baby her, a lot. But she’s got ears and she’s not oblivious. Even so, what should she say to a girl whose whole world just go turned upside-down? She doesn’t know how to console that kind of hurt. It seems so big. Just the thought of losing  _her_  parents makes her feel sick.

“Just follow her lead,” Nanae advises. “Be gentle. If she wants to try and have a normal conversation, then try and have a normal conversation. If she wants to play, then play. Papae’s going to be looking after her for the next while, and it’s not your job to fix things for her. You can’t, anyway. No one can. So just do what you can. I’ll drop you off at school this morning.”

Kel nods, and Nanae leans forward, and presses their forehead to hers. They can always tell when she needs it. Even if she doesn’t have much reason to need it.

She dresses for school, and heads out into the kitchen, then, but Eda is nowhere to be seen. Papae is giving Virevas breakfast, and has set out a plate for her. Nanae’s disappeared somewhere.

“Where’s Eda?” she wonders, as she settles in at the table. She smiles at her little baby sister, who waves her spoon and chirps a babbling  _good morning_  at her. It comes out more like ‘goo moppin, kee’ than ‘good morning, kel’. Virevas is a definite contender for cutest baby ever, Kel thinks.

“She’s in bed,” Papae tells her. “We’re just letting her rest for now. You can meet her later.”

He’s got his worried face on, though. Whether he’s worried about Eda (probably) or Kel’s reaction to Eda (also probably) or something else entirely (not unlikely) or all of them together (most probably) is a bit hard to say. Kel nods at him reassuringly, just the same.

“Okay. I’m looking forward to it,” she tells him. “You can tell her that if it helps.”

He reaches over and pats her head, and then has to stop Virevas from knocking over her sippy cup.

“Are you gonna be okay with looking after Virie and everything, too?” she wonders. “I could stay home from school if you need me to.”

Papae tuts at her.

“Of course I’ll be alright, da’vhenan! There’s no need for your education to be interrupted. It’s very important,” he says.

Rats.

Well, it was worth a shot. Not that Kel hates school or anything, but she thinks she’d still rather feed the birds and colour with Virevas and meet this Eda girl. And actually help her papae, because he needs looking after too, sometimes. But at least she can tell Ileth and Olwyn and the twins and everyone all about this tragic new development.

“Kel,” Papae says. “Don’t, um. Don’t talk about this with the other kids just yet, alright? Eda’s been through a lot. It might be better not to have other children knowing just how much, for now. Not that she’s liable to meet them soon, but still. We aren’t gossips in this family.”

…Or maybe not.

“What should I say?” she wonders. Virevas starts making dragon noises and smushing her toast together.

Papae thinks about it.

“Just tell them that there’s a new foster girl staying with us, for now,” he decides.

Kel nods. That’s not so unusual for their circles, really. They had other kids stay with them a few times. A little human boy who went to live with his grandparents after a few weeks, and a mixed-blood toddler who got adopted by a very nice family, and just needed a place to stay in the meanwhile.

Nanae re-emerges, then. Dressed for work. They come over and kiss Kel’s cheek, and Virevas’, and then pull Papae aside for a ‘quick talk’. Kel takes over baby duties for a few minutes, and manages to get her sister to actually  _eat_  her toast by sitting across from her and very pointedly eating her own, until Virevas starts copying her.

By the time she’s finished, Nanae and Papae are done with their talk. She polishes off her breakfast and grabs up her knapsack, and lets Papae give her an uncommonly long and firm goodbye-hug before she follows Nanae out the door, and off to school.

In the end she has a hard time not talking about it with her cousins and her friends. Mostly because she wants to hear what they think, and more importantly, what they think she should  _do._  Olwyn especially, she thinks, would probably know some things to say or do. What did she do back when she first met Olwyn? It was at school, wasn’t it? She doesn’t think she can even remember. Sometimes she forgets that Olwyn hasn’t been in their circle since they were all babies.

And anyway, she thinks, Olwyn had been at an orphanage for a little while, before her parents found her. It wasn’t just, like,  _the day after_. And nobody got murdered. So far as Kel knows.

Maybe a present? Or would that just seem like ‘hey your parents got killed, but here’s some gum or something, so cheer up’?

Well.

Nanae says that sometimes you just have to make a mistake, so that people can get angry about it, so that everyone can express themselves and then move on. Kel’s not entirely sure she’s grasped their whole meaning with that, but she thinks she should probably try  _something,_  at least. So at lunchtime she goes tells Maibrit she feels like sneaking off to the nearest mall, and they do. Kel’s got a pretty good allowance.

“You wanna get something for the new girl?” Maibrit asks her.

“How’d you know?” Kel wonders.

The dwarven teen shrugs.

“You always buy people presents when you don’t know how to talk to them,” she says. “When you met me you gave me a bag of chips and asked what my favourite pokemon was.”

“Winning strategy,” she points out.

“Never said it wasn’t.”

It becomes clear pretty quick, however, that Kel has no idea where to even start. She doesn’t know anything about this girl. She doesn’t even know how old she it, she realizes, when Maibrit asks. They puzzle over it for a few minutes, while Kel worries over the time and Maibrit assures her that skipping class would just be a cool act of teenage rebellion.

She’s not sure she wants to rebel, though. Papae will worry.

“Stuffed animals!” Maibrit finally concludes. “You can’t go wrong with them. They’re always cute and fluffy, and even teenagers still love them, even if they pretend not to.”

Kel can’t refute that, she supposes. She still has Screecher Jr. the well-worn phoenix camped out on her own bed, after all. And she supposes, in the event that Eda absolutely hates stuffed toys, she can at least give it to Virevas. Who loves all things shiny, cute, and/or cuddly. Maibrit crows in victory over the idea, and leads her off towards the ‘best toy store in this sad excuse for a shopping centre’. They end up in a good, mid-sized place, sporting merchandise from the latest movies, and with rows upon rows of stuffed toys. Kel steps back and looks at them all, assessing them for hug-ability and soothing qualities.

“Oh, they have pet rocks!” Maibrit exclaims, and goes to look at the shelves. “Pfft,  _real lyrium inside,_  yeah freaking right…”

Kel only half listens, as she looks a plush giraffes, and unicorns, and mabari hounds, and halla.

Halla.

Every little elf in the world at least  _likes_  halla, right? Or is that too stereotypical? Is Eda even an elf, come to think of it? Maybe she isn’t. Olwyn likes halla too, though. But not as much as dogs. But then, Ileth likes dogs better as well. And she doesn’t even know, so maybe she should stop thinking about it in those terms.

She’s still musing over the options when something green catches in the corner of her eye.

Green and shiny, but soft. She heads over to the different segment of shelf, and pulls out a frog. A massive, cuddly, shiny green frog, with friendly eyes, and the most huggable boy she’s ever held apart from maybe Virevas when she’s sleepy. She shows it to Maibrit and Maibrit agrees that it’s probably the best stuffed animal in the place, so even though it basically cleans Kel’s allowance reserves right out, she buys it.

They barely make it back to school in time. Maibrit manages to fit the giant frog in her locker, and then gives it to her at the end of the day.

Nanae raises an eyebrow when she slides into the front seat with it.

“It’s for Eda,” she says.

They nod.

“When did you get it?” they ask.

She shrugs.

“Maibrit and me went to the mall at lunch time,” she says.

“So long as you weren’t alone,” Nanae allows, and she makes a face. She knows the rules. It’s not  _safe_  to go places or skip school alone. Papae doesn’t like her doing it at all, of course. But Nanae just says to make sure she has an accomplice and her can of pepper spray with her. And if she ever ends up having to walk home alone – which she  _could,_  it’s not that far, but Nanae or Papae always drive her – then she has to bring a friend or else call one of her aunts or uncles or someone. She has to go through the  _list._

They pull up to their building, and Kel feels like a bundle of nerves when they get into the apartment. But it’s all quiet. Papae’s napping in the living room with Virevas, who’s behaving herself very nicely, just watching her cartoons. She wakes him up by shouting her greetings at them, though. Kel slips quickly down the hall so she won’t see the frog and think it’s for her, and get upset when it isn’t. She heads into her room, and puts away her bag, and takes off her shoes. Breathing in relief, before hesitating a moment.

The door to Papae and Nanae’s room is open a crack.

She hefts up the frog, while she hears Papae and Nanae talking, and Virevas’ babbling chatter. Moving carefully down the hall, until she can peer through the door. She pushes it open a bit more, tentatively, and spies a small lump on Papae’s side of the bed. There’s a tuft of fair hair, and some fingers visible. Kel hesitates for a minute. Is she sleeping? She glances back towards the living room, but when she looks back again, she sees a pair of eyes staring at her.

Staring at her with a very far-away sort of look. Like a fever, almost, except they don’t seem glassy. Kel stares back awkwardly for a moment. But then she squares her shoulders, and makes her way into the room.

It’s not like there’s anything wrong with this girl, after all. She’s hurt; not  _bad._

She makes all the way over to the side of the bed, locked in a silent, inscrutable staring contest.

Then she places the frog onto the mattress near Eda’s arms.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m Kel. My parents said you’re staying here with us. I know it must be – that it’s got to be really hard. It’s okay if you want to stay in bed, and not talk, and stuff. But I thought you might like something to hold. So. I got you this. And I hope… when you come out, that we can be friends.”

The girl just stares at her for another long moment.

Kel nods, and then turns, and heads for the door.

But when she goes to close it behind her, the frog has disappeared underneath the blankets.

She lets herself hope that’s a good sign, before heading back into the living room.


	54. Eda's Lessons

Sorrow isn’t like Fear, and it isn’t like Desire.

Granted, Fear and Desire are plenty different from one another as well. It varies, of course, but simply put, Desire is moving towards something, Fear is moving away from it, and Sorrow is… sinking. Moving neither forwards nor backwards. Only down, down, and when it is strongest, it swallows even the urge to escape.

When Eda is having her hardest time, she sleeps. Curled up in little balls, dozing, drifting. Uthvir’s watched her at it, parsing the spirit that they had assumed made her a deal on that fateful night.

In hindsight, they think, it was a foolish presumption.  _Fear_  would have approached under such circumstances. Rage, certainly. Possibly even Desire, if one such creature was close enough. But Sorrow? To come in that very moment, when shock and the most visceral of pain would have been high? No. Sorrow was more quiet than that, more insidious in its way.

Uthvir mulls over the matter as they head home, after a strange and somewhat fraught conversation. No more questions for now, they think. At least, not from themselves - Eda can ask whatever she wishes, though she’s quiet for most of the drive. Staring thoughtfully out of her window, still tinged with fear that something is wrong with her.

That something is wrong with Uthvir, too. That this revelation means that someone, someday, might come and hurt her new family.

It’s not really a fear they can alleviate, much. It’s not the type to be reassured; it’s the kind that comes from past experience, from knowing firsthand that the floor can, and will, open up beneath people sometimes and let the worst things happen to them. That sometimes it doesn’t matter how strong people are, or how good they’ve been, or how much they love you.

“There’s one more surprise, today,” Uthvir says.

Eda blinks at them, and the dark thoughts lesson, a little, as she clearly wonders what they mean.

_Restful Grove Animal Retirement Home_  takes on animals from the city who are too old to keep doing what task they were initially kept for. Halla included. And halla, Uthvir knows, are one of Eda’s favourite animals. They’re a popular choice all around, it seems. But Eda’s the one who keeps trying to sneak into the halla pen at the zoo, and giving Thenuvnin heartattacks.

And so, in addition to having a certain conversation, Uthvir has resolved to do something about this issue, too.

The woman who runs the shelter – Vashoth, elderly, with shorn horns and calloused hands – offers riding lessons in exchange for donations, or volunteer work. Or both, they suppose. 

As Uthvir drives, Eda gets more and more curious. They make their way towards the massive national park at the edges of the city, turning off a long and winding road through ever-thickening trees and woodland that dot this part of Arlathan. After a while they roll down the windows, when the moisture lets up a bit, and sweet, flowering scents drift through the car. Eda grins, and closes her eyes, and then signs at them.

_Drive?_  She asks. Learning sign language has been slow-going, mostly because none of them knew it beforehand, and obviously Eda usually prefers to use her little chalkboard or else text someone on her phone. But they’ve managed to get a few things down, and this is one of them. It makes it easier for talking in the car, at least.

Uthvir grins.

“Not just a drive, no,” they say. “But if you get uncomfortable, da’len, you just let me know. It won’t bother me if you want to go home.”

Eda nods, but she seems more fixated on figuring out where they’re going than on worrying over whether it might upset her, or focusing on the dour thoughts from a moment ago.

Good.

When they pull up to the sign for the place, her eyebrows go up. The car scrapes across dirt and gravel, pulling up to the main building. Uthvir drives slowly, avoiding a goat that’s meandering its way across the parking lot. The trees along the roadside thin to reveal several small fields and rough buildings, and Eda almost plasters herself to her window as she sees a trio of halla grazing in the distance. Uthvir’s not certain of how to tell age on the animals. These look a bit heavier-set than most, though, and they move more slowly. It could be their maturity, or it could just be that this particular breed of halla is a bit different than the popular image.

They turn the engine off, and Eda looks at them questioningly.

“How would you like riding lessons?” they ask.

Her face lights up. Uthvir can’t help but smile back a little, as suddenly it seems like she can’t get out of the car fast enough. They have to catch her to stop her from just racing over to the halla pen, and they chuckle a little, holding her hand as they walk up towards the main building instead. A sleepy old tuxedo cat is sunning on the wooden railing next to the front door, and Uthvir thinks they see an ostrich, of all things, pecking away over by the stables.

In the time it takes for them to let go of Eda’s hand, push open the door with the little ‘welcome’ sign on it, and turn back to her, their foster daughter has somehow managed to acquire a nug. They blink, staring as she pets at the arthritic, wrinkled little animal and it makes delighted chuffing noises and exudes considerably less fear than the average nug ever has in Uthvir’s presence.

It has a nametag on a soft little collar around its neck that reads ‘Stumpy’.

“Where did you…” they ask, and then just shake their head as Eda grins and Stumpy chews on one of her sleeves.

Inside the main building, one of the volunteers greets them cheerfully. She’s not the one Uthvir spoke to on the phone, or met with the first time they came here, but she can’t be much older than Kel and she’s got a certain genuine enthusiasm that’s hard to find fault with. She has them sign in, and Uthvir opts to make the standard donation payment for this lesson, and then she takes them around to the halla pen. She reclaims Stumpy from Eda before they go in, but Uthvir sees a veritable menagerie of other animals loitering around all over the place. A couple of old horses, a donkey, a long-faced dog that wags its tail at them but doesn’t bother to get up from its post by the fence. More cats.

The owner of the place doesn’t talk down to Eda, but gets her to nod every time she understands something, or shake her head if she doesn’t. The old halla selected for her mount is very tolerant and sweet-tempered, not startled by much of anything, it seems. Uthvir stands back and keeps an eye on things, in between looking over the stables, and food supplies, and water troughs. Near as they can tell, everything looks fine, though. One of the cats comes and sits down near to them, flicking its tail back and forth. A whisper of something in the back of their mind, shaded rather like Desire, before it turns and slinks off again. Two tails twining around in its shadow.

Eda takes her first ride around the rescue’s fields successfully, and goes for a second, grinning and patting her fingers gently against the halla’s neck. When she’s finished her new teacher asks if she’d like to feed her mount, and she nods, eagerly, and demonstrates that she knows how to hold out her hand as they go and get a few treats. The old halla nosing after their elbows, clearly smart enough to know what’s coming.

Uthvir goes ahead and schedules another lesson with the friendly volunteer, while Eda’s busy spoiling her new friend.

When they get back to the car, their foster daughter scrambles into the backseat and pulls out her chalkboard, and starts hastily writing on it. Uthvir lets her finish, and makes her get buckled in after she slides the board over to them

_Can we come here again???_

She’s picking up Thenvunin’s penchant for abusing question marks, they see.

“Next week,” they promise, and Eda throws her arms up in celebration, and grins.

_Success,_  Uthvir thinks, even as Fear buzzed about little girls being thrown from saddles and unknown volunteer workers and all the illnesses that animals can carry. All that aside, it’ll probably be a while before anyone’s comfortable with letting her come and have lessons here by herself, but still. They might just be able to work up to it.

They reach back and hand her chalkboard to her, and take a moment to ruffle her hair while they’re at it.And then they put on her favourite collection of Disney song covers as they set off back home again.

They feel a rush of relief.

The danger of Sorrow, of sinking, is immobility. Of never seeing the good in things, never finding the motivation to reach them. No relief. No joy. But the spirit within Eda is tremulous, and not quite so clearly-defined, it seems, as Fear had supposed. And Eda herself is capable of motivations that can reshape her partner, and their relationship; can help them both support one another, rather than destroying each other.

As long as there is still something that can put a smile on her face, Uthvir thinks.

No matter how much it takes, no matter how far they must go, they will find it for her.


	55. Who's Jude?

Mamae likes to sing when she cooks. 

Her soft voice filling the room with old tunes that Rissa doesn’t recognize much. Maybe they sound somewhat familiar, she thinks.

“Mamae?” She asks from her spot at the bar. Her books litter the counter space and Vara’s little toys occupy the floor. Isabela is next to her, ignoring her books as usual, and instead opting to tap the screen on her cellphone.

“Mhmm?” Mamae says, breaking off her singing.

“Who’s Jude?” Rissa asks. Isabela raises a brow next to her, and mamae turns around, wiping her hands on a cloth. She hums thoughtfully.

“I can show you, da'len. Just wait here for a second,” she says as she disappears into her room. She emerges not long after with a crate. A big crate, that even takes Vara away from his toys and Isabela puts her phone down before hopping off the barstool to help her mother with the box.

They set it down and mamae pulls off the already loose lid as Rissa and her siblings gather around it. Vara sticks his tiny hands in and pulls out what looks like a stuffed animal with floppy ears.

“Is this your treasure box, mamae?” Isabela asks.

“I guess it is,” she replies without looking up.

“Does that mean you’re a pirate?” Vara asks, dropping the floppy animal in his lap.

“No, dummy. There had to have been some kind of treasure map. Only then could mamae be a pirate.” Isabela argues.

“What if there were charts?” Rissa jumps in. “Like, you know… star charts with coordinates for mamae’s closet.”

“That’s silly.” Isabela says. Mamae giggles.

“What if I had a  _secret_  treasure map and  _secret_  charts?” She says.

“That makes you a  _secret pirate_  then!” Vara gasps. Mamae laughs and ruffles his hair before pulling more things out.

“A-ha!” Mamae calls out not long after. She triumphantly holds up a very big and very square paper sleeve with a picture of four men on the cover. Rissa tilts her head as mamae pulls out a large black disk. “Hm.. well.. we seem to be missing the record player. No matter. YouTube exists for a reason.”

She puts the record back into its sleeve and sets it down before heading to retrieve her phone. Rissa has heard of record players before. She’s seen them on T.V. and they have a needle and the record spins and somehow music is produced.

Rissa and her siblings stare at the four men some more, and agree that they seem like weirdos. They’re dressed weird, anyway. Mamae comes back and reclaims her spot on the floor before pressing play on the YouTube video.

The music plays and Rissa is filled with an odd sense of nostalgia. Isabela knows it better, and begins to hum to the tune a little. Only Vara seems to be listening to this for the first time.

“I liked the end with the  _na’s.”_ Vara says.

“Me, too.” Mamae says.

 

~

 

Happiness is complicated. It’s different for everyone. You don’t truly know it until you have suffered and lost, and when you find it, you savor every second of it.

For Ana, it’s in Vena’s arms, his lips on hers, his voice in her ear. It’s in his laugh, his smile. It’s in the quiet pillow talk and lazy good mornings. It’s in  _I love you’s_ that never fail to make her heart soar. Sweet kisses and soft touches.

Happiness is Taz’s hair between her fingers. Knotted at the ends until she gets around to untangling them. It’s when he wears the tie she picked out for him. It’s his hand on her head when he attempts to comfort her.

Ana finds happiness in Isabela’s unwavering confidence. In her mischievous smiles and witty quips. Underneath that confidence is still the energetic toddler running about with her hair fluffed up around her mermaid crown.

She finds happiness in the way Rissa’s eyes light up when she talks about the things she loves. Her intelligence is second to none, and Ana is prouder everyday. She knows her daughter’s body is weak but even after the fact, Rissa’s spirit is anything but.

She swells with it when Varawell dances. She sees his drive to do better, to be better than he was. He strives for perfection, but he is her son, and to her he has always been perfect.

Ana finds happiness in her friends. In their unwavering support and kindness, and in their warmth. They all help each other out, no matter the hardships they face. They see each other through the storms and are there to bask in the sunshine after. They are friends, but they are not. More than friends. A family.

_A clan._


	56. Pride the Wolf Kid

When he’s ten, Pride’s riding instructor’s dog has puppies.

She’s not a mabari hound, but Pride’s sure she’s  _some_  kind of magical breed. The Instructor says she’s a husky mix, but Pride thinks she looks like a wolf. She’s a huge, white, friendly dog, very smart and good with the halla, and her fur is wonderfully soft. Pride likes her almost more than his riding lessons.

Her puppies look pretty much the same, except smaller and cuter.

Pride wants one  _so badly._

There are four of them, and he finds himself weirdly compelled to just go and sit and let them crawl all over him. His instructor actually puts on into his arms, and its wriggly and nips him a little, and then starts licking his face like mad.

“Please,” he asks Mythal. “I’ll do everything for it, I’ll walk it and feed it and make sure it’s trained, and doesn’t get hair on the furniture or anything-”

“Pride,” Mythal says, cutting him off. “A pet is a massive distraction you don’t need. Your studies have to come first. You can play with the dogs when you get your riding lessons. Isn’t that enough?”

Pride recognizes her tone, and lets the matter go. He knows Mythal cares about him, that she’s given him his future, and he doesn’t want to disappoint her or ask for too many things. But he wants this one thing, more than he ever might have guessed he would. Wolves are such amazing animals, and dogs are loyal and steadfast companions, and a dog that’s amazing like a wolf seems like it would just be the best friend he could have. Except for maybe Curiosity. But Curiosity has to go home in the evenings, and Pride thinks it would be nice to have a friend with him in his room at night, who could be a good guard and keep him company.

So… he goes to Elgar’nan.

He knows it’s underhanded, after Mythal said no. He tries to make sure that he does it the right way. Elgar’nan asks him what he wants for Wintersend, and Pride puts on his most forlorn face.

“What’s the matter?” Elgar’nan asks him.

“It’s just that… the dog at my riding class had puppies,” Pride says. “And I think what I’d really like would be one of them. But pets are very distracting. But I really, really want one. I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted anything so much before…”

Elgar’nan’s expression falters, brows furrowing. He reaches over and ruffles Pride’s hair.

“Well. We shall see. Wintersend gifts are always full of surprises,” he declares.

Pride makes sure to look extra forlorn and hopeless and deprived. It’s enough that Elgar’nan buys him ice-cream, but he doesn’t get a definite answer on the puppy situation. It’s probably his best bet, at this point, but if Mythal really says no, then even Elgar’nan will respect her judgement.

And it’s good judgement!

Usually!

It’s just… Pride doesn’t think she’s really  _appreciating_  how much harder her could probably study and do things if he had a dog as motivation. He mentions that, a few times, but stops when he starts getting Looks.

The puppies get a bit bigger, and two of them disappear to new homes. But two are still there, and Pride waits for Wintersend with baited breath. In the morning he wakes up, and of course he has to get ready for the party. Over breakfast he listens to Mythal talking to one of the organizers about how Dirthamen’s family still isn’t coming, but Andruil and Ghilan’nain are bringing Eloren, and Sylaise and her family will be there, and so will Flemeth and Morrigan, and several Business Associates. Pride listens carefully, thinking about how he’ll avoid encounters he doesn’t want to have, but still be ‘suitably present’.

“Pride, dear, who did your hair? That braid is falling apart, go have it fixed,” Mythal instructs, after breakfast, and even though Pride’s pretty sure his hair is fine, he recognizes the cue for him to leave the room so she can make ‘sensitive calls’.

He stays on his best behaviour, all through the party. And then the evening comes, and all the guests exchange gifts. Pride gets jackets and shoes and other boring things that are designer made and mostly seem to be attempts to curry favour with Mythal. June gives him a puzzle game he actually wanted, which is a nice surprise, and Curiosity gives him a pyjama shirt with a wolf on it, which is his next favourite thing after that.

And then Elgar’nan calls him over, holding a big box with a loose lid.

Pride feels very excited as he opens up the top.

A mechanical ‘yap’ greets him.

It’s a struggle to keep his face from falling, as he looks inside of the box and sees what is clearly a toy.

It’s a very nice toy, covered in soft white and grey fur, with blue button eyes. The gears inside whirr a little as it paws move, and its head tilts. It ‘yaps’ again, as Pride lifts it up. The collar around its neck denotes it as a ‘Furreal Friend’. It doesn’t really look wolf-like, though, the proportions are all wrong and exaggeratedly ‘cute’, and its tail is curly and real wolves, Pride knows, aren’t… at all like this. 

Even real dogs aren’t. Not even the little breeds.

He thanks Elgar’nan, though, and tries not to feel too embarrassed as he carries his new toy around. He really feels like it’s probably for a littler kid. Curiosity says it’s very cute, but Morrigan almost immediately pokes fun of him.

That’s not nearly as bad as the  _disappointment_ , though.

Pride puts his toy dog away in his closet, and tries not to feel like it’s mocking him for even wanting something. Really, really wanting it, just for himself.  _Selfish._  He goes back to his lessons, and the other two puppies are gone. Their mother’s still there, though, and seems happy to indulge Pride in a little more affection than usual. 

Maybe someday, he thinks. When he’s allowed to have distractions.

Whenever that happens to be.


	57. Father-Daughter Bonding

The air is cool for Arlathan; not chilly, of course. Winter here is a mild thing, passing like still water. But she’s wearing a cute jacket, and some leggings, and a silk scarf that was a present last year from Auntie Serahlin that makes it look like it should be cold, but is light enough that she isn’t actually hot.

Her papa is dressed in a similar fashion, holding her hand as they walk down the crowded street.

All of the shops are decorated for Wintersend, with trees and wreathes and bright red bows on doors. Even if the weather isn’t cold, the atmosphere for Wintersend is abundant.

Olwyn remembers, briefly, Wintersend in Ostwick; the snow, and how her breath would come out as steam on cold days. She misses that sometimes. Arlathan is nothing like Ostwick. But…she likes this better. Because in Arlathan she has her family: Papa and Babae and Lasair and all her aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. Ostwick had snow…but Arlathan has family.

It’s Lasair’s first Wintersend with them, this year. Lasair is still quiet sometimes, and shy, and worried to ask for things from their Papa and Babae. So it’s been Olwyn’s mission to find out what Lasair wants for Wintersend. Kind of like an undercover spy, Babae tells her.

Olwyn wonders how Lasair is going to react when she sees all the presents from her new aunts and uncles on Wintersend. That had surprised Olwyn the most, her first year here. Not only had Papa and Babae gotten her things, but she’d found a mountain of presents from the rest of them as well. It had been a bit overwhelming at first, but it certainly hadn’t taken much to forget that odd nervousness.

Olwyn wants this to be the best Wintersend ever for Lasair, so that she isn’t afraid or sad anymore. It’s better now than it was the first few months, when Lasair would wake up from a nightmare, or flinch when someone made too loud a sound. When Olwyn would hear her parents talking and Papa worrying about the paperwork and ‘court appearances’ that had to be done before Lasair could be her sister for  _real_.

But now the paperwork is done, and Lasair is legally her sister, which means people can’t take her away from them. Which is good, because she likes Lasair, and she’s pretty sure Papa and Babae would cry if someone tried to take her away.

She remembers when her parents had first talked about adopting another child.

_“Would you like to have a sister or brother?”_

_“Like Ash?” Ash isn’t_ really _her sister, but Ash is_ like _a sister. Olwyn takes care of her like she’s her sister, even though she’s really her aunt. She wishes that Ash got to stay all the time, though. But Ash and her mom, Auntie Kass, don’t live with them, since they live with Grandnanae._

_“Mmmm, a bit more like Felasel and Darevas.”_

_“Oh.” That means her new sibling will stay with her_ all the time _._

_A part of her is excited. Another part is afraid. Do they…do her papa and babae not want her anymore? Is she not enough? She knows better than that, of course. But it’s hard, sometimes, to keep the tightness in her chest and stomach away._

_Compassion talks with her about it when she goes for her appointments. About the tight feeling, and the nightmares._

_And she knows what it feels like, to be afraid and hurting, and to think no one will love her. She remembers her life before Papa and Babae, and it makes her sad. She doesn’t want someone else to live with that feeling._

_“…do I get to help pick?”_

_Aelynthi blinks, and Victory lets out a loud laugh._

_“You do,” Victory finally grins, “Which is more than any of your cousins can say.”_

In the end, she didn’t actually get to pick Lasair, because Lasair was brought to them first, because she needed a family. Which Olwyn thinks is fine. It makes it seem more real that way. No one gets to choose their siblings, after all.

And Olwyn wants to be a good sibling. She wants to be the best sis  _ever_. All her other cousins have brothers and sisters, so she’s glad that she’s got one too, even if sometimes she still worries. But Compassion tells her that’s normal too. The tight feeling in her chest won’t ever fully go away, but it gets better, when she talks about it. And she knows some breathing exercises and other things to help when it gets bad.

Lasair talks with Compassion about things too. Olwyn wonders if Lasair talks about the same things, or if the stuff that scares her and makes her chest tight is different.

“Olwyn?” Her papa squeezes her hand and looks down at her in concern, “Are you alright?”

“Mmm, yep!” Olwyn grins, “Lasair told me all the things she likes, too! Like books and things!”

“Oh good,” Her papa nods, “I’m glad that she told you. Did you tell Lasair the things you like?”

Lasair is going with Babae Victory to pick out presents for her and Papa Aelynthi, she knows. She nods again, “I told her all about the mermaids, and the fish. And I learned in school about a mammal that lives in the waters near mangrove swamps and they’re called manatees and they’re big and gentle like Babae. I told her about them too.”

Her papa smiles, “That sounds very much like your Babae.”

“Also, a lot of them have scars on their backs, because of propellers, because people are mean and don’t look where they’re going with their boats.” She frowns, “Babae’s scars aren’t from propellers, are they?”

“No,” Aelynthi agrees, “They’re from other things.”

Olwyn nods, “Ok. I suppose that Babae would know better than to swim under boats.”

Her papa snorts, before turning away to hide a smile, “I would certainly hope so.”

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“Can we bake cookies when we get home? The ones that are different shapes?” Last year, Uncle Adannar had given her a whole bunch of cookie cutters. Some of them were shaped like fish, and some like cats and dogs, and even a giraffe! “I think there’s a fox one. I want to make a special cookie for Lasair.”

“Alright. What kind of cookies do you want to make?”

“Gingerbread!” She chirps, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Her papa smiles down at her, “Gingerbread it is.”


	58. Lela

_You were a mistake._

Lela’s parents are young when they have her. Barely more than teenagers, living in a room-room apartment in Ansburg. They’re fresh off of the Minanter ferry. Fresh from Seheron, giddy with the odd mix of freedom and autonomy and fear and desperation, brought on by adult liberties and a flight that is spiritual as well as geographical. The Free Marches aren’t what they’d expected. Their whole lives they’ve heard that abandoning the qun is the first major step on a downward spiral into inevitable chaos, and they kind of want to see what chaos actually looks like.

And apparently chaos doesn’t include a lot of condoms.

They name her ‘Lela’ because they think it sounds like a Marcher name. Not something that came out of qunlat. They’re inconsistent parents. Too harsh or too lax by turns, really. Lela toddles around the house naked, and drinks chocolate milk and fizzy sodas from a bottle, and uses bright blue and green finger paint on the nubs of her horns. And she gets hit whenever she makes a mistake; switches on her knuckles, slaps to her cheek or backside, knocks upside the head. Her parents try and teach her things, giving lessons like drill sergeants one minute, and letting her stay up until midnight watching cartoons the next.

She’s a nervous child.

The world is so hard to predict.

She’s five years old when she snaps her fingers and makes a spark. A little blue flicker. She tells her parents and they shrug and explain about static electricity, and mention getting some balloons for her that never actually arrive. She doesn’t think she needs them, though. She practices, marvelling at the way the spark gets bigger, and bigger, until one morning she’s sitting by the fridge, and the spark launches clean from her fingers and right into the little metal door.

Her mother drops the magazine she’s reading.

There’s such an odd look on her face, Lela remembers. Realization and dawning horror, and a solemn kind of fear.

This, her parents learn, is what chaos looks like. A naked baby in a tiny apartment, launching magical sparks into the appliances.

_You were a mistake._

Her parents start doing things differently, after that. It’s hard for her to figure out. Some of its nice. They clean the apartment more, and set up a schedule for things. Some of its hard. She’s not used to the concept of bed times, of rules, and they still know only the one way to enforce them. Candy and sweets and ‘unnecessary indulgences’ disappear from her life. The sparks are bad, she learns. The sparks are evil. They’re a sign that she’s a born weapon, a dangerous thing.

_This is our punishment,_  her parents say.  _You are our retribution, for breaking from the qun._

They suffer her like a penance. Tell her not to speak, because her words are dangerous. Not to move, because her movements are dangerous. She’s not a child, she learns. Not a real vashoth. She’s a demon in the shape of one. A burden, a disaster. They lock her into her room at night, so that she won’t slip into theirs and try to kill them while they’re sleeping. They let her wander the apartment when she’s home alone, but they don’t take her to parks anymore, or let her out onto the streets. It wouldn’t be fair. She could hurt other children, could go on a rampage and burn down the whole city.

The older she gets, the more fearful they become. Eventually, they stop disciplining her. The restrictions don’t leave. But more and more often, her parents do. Vanishing for days, leaving behind cans of beans and condensed soup, that she eventually figures out how to open. She destroys the microwave by putting metal in it. Making big, blue sparks, and when her parents come home she’s sure they’re going to be angry. They’re going to hit her.

They don’t say anything. They just throw the microwave away.

For a long time, she doesn’t use her magic. It’s dangerous, and bad, and she hopes it’s a mistake.

**_You_ ** _are the mistake._

She hopes that if she doesn’t use it, it will vanish like she never had it to begin with. She can go back to being a child. Her parents won’t be afraid of her anymore.

But every so often, she tests it. And every time afterwards, she curses herself. Because the sparks come back, flaring to life as easily as breathing, and she always thinks to herself that it was too soon. She should have waited longer. Just a little longer, and it would have faded away; but now she has to start all over again.

And yet.

Every time she gets her hopes up, she checks.

One week her parents disappear for the whole length of it. Lela eats the food in the cupboards, until she runs out. One day without food stretches on into two, and she’s  _hungry._ She remembers going to the store when she was little. Vague impressions of colourful shelves, that her mind fills in with information from television shows. She learned how to count currency. She still knows it. She goes through all the drawers in the apartment, the couch cushions and the spaces behind things, and finds some coins. One, two, three coins. A Starkhaven quarter, and two Ansburg dimes. And then a scrunched, folded bill in the pocket of her father’s pants, in the laundry pile in her parents’ room. Two. Two dollars and forty-five cents. That… she could buy something with that, right? A can of soup, or beans, or something? She remembers buying candy with quarters. Slipping them up onto the counter while a human lady smiled at her, and helped her count.

She lays out her find on the kitchen table, and stares at it.

She can’t go to a store.

She can’t leave the apartment.

But she thinks about it. Disjointed daydreams, that sink into real dreams by the time she goes to bed. Her mind supplies a shop with shelves upon shelves of her favourite foods. Everything priced only a penny. She gathers up armloads of it, and the lady behind the shop counter smiles at her. Soft and warm, with silver-white hair, and dark, deep eyes. She reaches over and brushes a lock of Lela’s hair back behind her ear.

“What a sweet girl you are. I could just eat you up,” she says. “How would you like to stay here and be my shop assistant? You could have any food you want for free.”

Lela’s eyes go wide, and her breath catches in her throat.

_Really?_

There’s so much food. The more she looks, the more shelves there seem to be. Filled with foods she loves, and foods she’s never tried. Things she’s only ever seen on television or in magazines. She could work hard, she could…

But…

She’s dangerous. She might hurt people. She can’t be here.

“Oh, no,” the lady behind the counter says. “Are you worried because of your magic? There’s an easy fix for that.”

Lela looks up at her, curious. How could there be? She’s tried so hard. The lady smiles, and beckons her towards a back room of the shop.

“All you have to do is sign your magic over to me,” she says. “I’m not a mage, so I can’t use it. But since it won’t belong to you anymore, neither can you. Then you can stay here, eating your fill, and never run out of food. There’s a lot more of it out there in the world than people think. So many delicious, strange, succulent things. And I get my wonderful new assistant, who will help me expand my enterprises.”

Lela swallows, her mouth watering, as the woman beckons her again.

“Come, come,” she says. “Take my hand, and come with me. Let me help you.”

She hesitates, a moment. And then she takes a step.

The front door bangs open.

She jolts awake at the jarring groan, and the soft curse. Heavy footsteps, familiar, and her heart leaps into her throat as her mind catches up with her, and she wakes properly. Her stomach is still aching. Oh, but that was a pleasant dream. She sits up, and heads over to the door of her room. She leaves it open, when her parents are away.

They trudge into the living room. Her father looks over, and sees her watching, and freezes.

Lela swallows.

_I ran out of food. I ran out of food. I ran out of food…_

“I ran out of food,” she whispers. Her voice rasping, haunting like the eerie note in a horror movie.

Her father shivers.

“We’ll get some more tomorrow,” he says. “Go back in your room and close the door.”

Lela does as she’s told. She climbs back into bed, and listens to the scrape of the lock, and the comforting rhythm of her parents’ footsteps. Hunger keeps her awake until morning. They unlock the door, and leave, and Lela goes into the bathroom and takes a shower. She drinks water from the tap, and scrubs at her teeth – the back ones are sore, and they’re out of toothpaste, too – and she listens, and goes back into her room when the front door opens again.

After a few minutes, her mother comes and knocks.

“There’s more food,” she says. “We’re leaving. We’ll be back tonight. Be in your room by seven.”

Lela doesn’t answer. She waits until they’re gone, but that’s as much as she can manage before she runs across the apartment, and attacks the bags on the counter. Eating cold beans and fruit cups until she throws up, and is forced to slow down. Pace herself. The money she found is still sitting on the table. She puts it all back where she found it, and turns on the television set. Sipping water as the local news channel comes on.

_Parents of mage boy found dead are acquitted. Anti-chantry terrorists, believed to be mage-affiliated, vandalize children’s hospital in Starkhaven. Templar Initiative members lobby to overturn new Ferelden law, claiming violation of religious freedoms. Par Vollen coastline continues to be assailed by tropical storm, death toll rises to thirty-two…_

Lela reads the scrolling ticker on the bottom of the screen, as the television shows scenes of destruction and devastation. A woman comes on to do an interview with the news anchor, discussing the likelihood of mage involvement in creating the tropical storms that are ravaging Par Vollen.  _We all know the qunari are exceptionally conservative in their approach to mages. Terrorist groups have been threatening action for years…_

All this death, Lela thinks. All this death, caused by monsters like her. She’s just like that storm, she thinks.

No wonder her parents are frightened.

She is dutifully back in her room by the allotted time, her hunger sated and her heady a little foggy from over-doing it. Part of her almost hopes one or both of them will come and say something about the ransacked food supplies. But the only time they come close is to lock her door for the night. She drifts off to sleep, and dreams of disjointed things. Ovens and shelves and raging, cracking lightning storms that crash through the windows of her room, and try to tear her out of bed.

When she’s twelve, things change again.

Her parents disappear for two weeks. She rations her food better, but it’s still been about a day since she ate anything by the time they come back. This time, though, they have her come into the living room. Sitting on the couch, as they stand across from her. Tense and silent, for a long time. But they’re looking at her. She’s sitting in the living room, with them, again. Lela folds her hands, and holds still. She keeps quiet, and almost lets herself hope.

“There is no cure for being a monster,” her mother tells her, at length. “It is what you are. But the danger can be removed. There is a treatment that the chantry has. It’s old and a lot of the knowledge is gone, but if we do it, you won’t be able to use magic anymore. You’ll be safe enough to do things for yourself. Go places, go outside, that sort of thing. You won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

Lela stares.

She almost can’t believe it. Her hopes soar. She might be a demon, but if she’s not dangerous – if she’s not dangerous, then there’s no more need for locked doors. Then she can be free. Maybe her parents will even start talking to her again. Like they used to.

Even just the thought is too much.

She bursts into tears.

She’s so happy. So relieved. There’s a cure, there’s a cure!

Her parents take wary steps back, and she fights to make herself stop. So they won’t change their minds, so they won’t be afraid. She sucks in shuddering, rasping breaths, and thanks them. But she’s still crying when they send her back to her room. Telling her that they’re going to have to go out, to take her to the people who will perform the treatment. She nods in understanding, and then her stomach is all full of butterfly nerves. She’s going to go outside, in public. She’s going to have to be so careful not to destroy everything.

They take her out the next day. Or night, rather. It’s after eight when they leave, and the sky is dark. Lela dresses in her nicest clothes, and flinches at the wide, open air of the street outside their building. The sounds of traffic so close, now, with wet pavement beneath her feet, and the day’s heat just beginning to fade from the air. They walk. Her parents have her walk in front of them, rather than at their backs, and direct her when to turn. She glances nervously back at them. Feeling exposed, and alone, with the wide space between them.

It’s at its worst and best when they pass over the bridge. The one that goes across the river. Lela can’t remember if she’s ever even seen it before. It looks like a long, dark snake, winding and shining in the moonlight. The sidewalk over is narrow, and there’s still a lot of traffic. Blinking headlights, roaring engines, and tires that splash puddles onto her legs. It’s coldest at the river, too, with a strong wind hitting the middle of the bridge. The bright, electric lights on it flicker, and she feels like she’s standing at the edge of a storm. The open air around her, the dark night sky, it feels like it could swallow her whole. It feels so  _big._

It’s… strangely exhilarating.

But that fits, doesn’t it? She belongs in storms. That’s why she’s dangerous; that’s why she needs to be contained. So that she doesn’t hurt people if she bursts loose.

When her magic’s gone, she wonders, will she still feel this? Or will she feel normal?

Better?

Worse?

She doesn’t expect the answer to be ‘nothing’.

The building her parents take her to is behind several shops, on a street where many of the lights are broken, and people don’t look at one another as they walk past. Lela doesn’t look, either. Doesn’t want to risk that her looking at them will do something bad to them. Her parents direct her down into the basement of a wide, brick building. She stands aside while her mother opens the door.

There are humans inside.

She freezes. Her eyes skitter from one unfamiliar figure to the next, and she doesn’t know how to react. There are too many of them. None of them are as tall as her parents, but all of them are taller than she is. Three of them have beards. They’re stocky, stern-faced, and she sees a chantry symbol tattooed on one’s arm. But apart from those features, any others are hard to tell, because all of them are wearing masks.

“This her?” he asks her parents.

“Yes,” her father says.

The man looks at her with hard eyes, and Lela suddenly wants to leave. She swallows with a dry throat, cluttering the stairwell, as her parents are stuck back by the entrance, and the unfamiliar humans stand at the bottom of the short stretch. She can see a chair with leather straps on it in the middle of the room.

_It’s a procedure,_  she reminds herself.  _It’s a cure, you – they are like doctors._

Nobody likes going to the doctor’s office. Everyone on television talks about that. Lela’s never been, but she’s heard as much. Still, she can’t make her feet move. She presses against the wall, and wishes she was just home, now. Wishes it was done with.

“Come here, mage,” the man with the chantry marks – the lead man, she supposes – says.

Lela is still frozen.

Two of the other humans shift, and her eyes go wide as she realizes that they’re holding guns. Hunting rifles. She’s never seen a gun in real life before. She stares at the dark shine of the metal, and her heart drops to her feet and feels like it’s shattering there. No. No, they’re going to kill her, she thinks. They’ve decided she’s too much of a monster and they lied and they’re going to kill her.

She turns and tries to run.

She doesn’t get far.

Her parents don’t try and stop her, but the humans are quick, and strong. One of them dashes up the stairs and grabs her. She shrieks in fright, and the air around her goes all heavy. A little hot. Her arms thrash and her legs kick, and two more come and help, and drag her properly into the room. The chair feels like it’s humming as they tie her into it. Holding tight and strapping her down, and she tries to headbutt one of the ones who has her, but he moves away in time.

She tries to punch. Tries to struggle her way free. Even tries to bite.

And then she tries to use the lightning.

She’s a monster, and they know it, and they’ll kill her. And she doesn’t want to die.

But the lightning doesn’t come. Nothing comes. The chair makes her skin itch, as if it’s infested with a hundred stinging insects, and the humans at the sides aim their guns at her. The rest stand back. They watch her for a few minutes, as she tries in futility to get free. Listen, as she finally looks at her parents, and pleas with them.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”

The human with the chantry tattoos moves a little closer. Moves until he’s right in front of her, in fact, and then he looks down at her. She doesn’t like his eyes.

“They all say that,” he tells her. His voice is surprisingly soft. She quiets, as he talks. “They say they’ll be good. They say they’ll never do it again. But you can’t help it. It’s in your nature; it’s the curse of it. Your sin is written onto your soul, and your dark powers are proof that the Maker has turned his gaze from you. But we can wipe the slate clean, Lela. We can sing the words of the chant into your spirit, and brand them into your flesh, and you will be made anew.”

She shudders, caught in the narrow intensity of his gaze. He leans down, and she closes her eyes and shakes as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Your parents don’t believe. They think we can only suppress the magic. But take comfort in it, Lela. Do not lose your way, and you might yet find a place at the Maker’s side.”

“I just want to go home,” she says, bawling. A wet, snotty mess.

“You will,” the man tells her.

Then he starts to sing.

The song is unsettling enough. His voice is raspy, whispery. His fellows join in. Singing about ladies and light and peace and hope; fire and judgement and ruination.  _Magic shall never rule over us._   _Cleanse its blight, and let those tainted by it renew themselves in service of the pure._  She struggles again, crying as they force her to drink something bitter-tasting; her eyes sticking on the guns, and then the human looks at her, and she thinks he looks excited as he opens the front collar of her shirt, and lifts a molten stick. And then presses it to the flesh between her collarbones.

It burns like nothing else.

She screams, but that’s not even the worst of it. The worst of it is the moment when she feels something… change. Something pull away. Like someone is slowly peeling the insides off of her skeleton. Her thoughts twist and warp, and turn disjointed, and everyone goes from painfully hot to sinkingly cold. Her terror and pain don’t vanish. But it’s like someone twists them so tightly that they can’t breathe anymore, and tucks them against the back of her skull. Cuts her into tiny pieces, and rearranges them all.

Her chest hurts.

She sits in the chair, drawing ragged breaths. Staring blankly ahead. Her chest hurts, and there are people in the room. The same people as before. The same room as before. Her chest hurts because there is a sun-shaped brand seared into it.

“Lela?” the human leader says.

“Yes?” she replies.

“How do you feel?”

She blinks.

“My chest hurts,” she says.

“Are you afraid?” he asks her. “Angry? Relieved?”

Is she? She should be, perhaps. That would make sense. Any of those possibilities would make sense. But she doesn’t feel them. She feels like she is underwater, instead, now. Very far away. Like she is gone beyond her own reach.

“No,” she replies.

“That’s good,” the man tells her. “Your soul has been cleansed. You can go now; but do not forget by whose mercy you are granted this redemption.”

“Alright,” Lela agrees.

She won’t forget.

He unties the straps on her. A few of the others come to help. She gets up. Her arms and legs hurt, too. Her struggles have given her bruises and red welts on her wrists. Her parents look at her uncertainly, but go with her. Back out into the street. They walk home with her in silence, and again they direct her down various turns, and stay behind her. She does not feel vulnerable, though she knows that she is, in fact.

When they get home, her father tells her to go to her room.

She goes.

She listens as he turns the lock.

She cannot do magic now. She does not even need to attempt it to know that. Perhaps he has forgotten. Perhaps he does not believe it. She thinks it should hurt, but it doesn’t. And she is tired, and her chest is offering a much more real, substantial sort of pain. So she lies down on her back, on her bed, and eventually goes to sleep.

She doesn’t dream.

Not even a little.

It takes a month before her parents stop locking her door at night. They give her instructions, and she follows them. Give her a task and she will do it, just so long as she knows how, or can figure it out. She can ignore her body’s impulses much more easily, now. When she’s hungry she feels it. But rarely is there the same desperation to the sense. She cleans the apartment. Watches television and reads magazines, and after a while her parents start giving her money and letting her shop, too. Telling her how much to spend, which things to buy, and to not talk to anyone. Twice a week she ventures down to the building’s laundry room and washes things.

Her parents trust her. Bit by bit.

And yet they seem to find her even more unsettling.

They still do not like her speaking, or looking at them.  _Soulless,_  her mother says, one night.  _This was a mistake. They didn’t wipe her clean of the magic, they washed everything about her away._

Lela supposes it might be true. Perhaps she is simply a body, now. Less than an animal.

She can tell it is a cruel thought, even if she cannot feel why.

She was better off as a demon. But everyone else is better off with her like this.

Still. Sometimes, with a stray thought, she tries to remember how she had felt when she stood on the bridge.  _Why_  she had felt it, and how it had stirred her. The words to describe it come to her. Vast and open and tempestuous. Exciting and liberating and yearning. But the feelings do not. They are less than words on paper to her now.

Sometimes it feels like there is something pressing at her. Maybe it’s the evil trying to get back in; to make her into a weapon once more.

A year passes, and then half of the next. There is a neighbour who comes down to the laundry at the same time that she is there, on occasion. She is Vashoth, and she asks when Lela moved into the building. She smiles, often, and tells Lela that she grew up in Ansburg, too. That no one can tell by looking, but she is one-quarter elf.  She makes jokes that taper awkwardly off, and smiles less frequently with every instance that they meet. She looks into Lela’s eyes, and then looks over her, and repeats this process a few times.

A month after their encounters at the laundry begin, a person comes and knocks on their door. Not the landlord, or a solicitor, or anything like that. They claim they are a social worker.

Her parents do not look pleased to let them in. They are a round elf, what would probably described as soft-featured, and less than an inch taller than Lela. Though they are, of course, fully grown. They sit with her, and her parents, and they ask questions. About Lela’s education, and health, and happiness. Her parents give stilted, conflicting answers to many questions.

Lela tells the truth, except on matters she has been explicitly told to lie about. But there are not many of those. Her parents did not expect her to be questioned, and they do not seem to know what to make of this development.

“Have you ever done magic, Lela?” the social worker asks.

Her parents tense.

“Yes,” she says.

“Would you, perhaps, do a little spell for me now?” they wonder. Her parents immediately object. They do not approve of magic. The social worker counters that ensuring that mage children have adequate control over their abilities is part of their inspection, and an important public safety measure. They declare that if Lela cannot prove that she has sufficient control over her abilities, they will need to take her to the Ansburg Circle Hospital and have her assessed.

“I cannot do magic anymore,” she asserts.

“She never could,” her mother says. “She was lying. I know she seems very dry, but sometimes she does that.”

The social worker glances at her mother.

“…I see,” they say. “Well, I am sad to say that matters concerning your daughter’s education are a considerable issue. You are going to have to enroll her in public school, as soon as possible. Additionally, there is the matter of medical care…”

Lela listens as the social worker explains to her parents that there are childcare standards which they are not meeting, and then declares that they will be back to make another inspection in the near future. Her parents begin to argue, after that. The cure for Lela’s magic was not a legal thing, and if it is discovered, and proven, then they could be incarcerated. Additionally, they are afraid of what a full investigation of their treatment of her might draw to light. While Ansburg is not like the monster-ruled locales of Tevinter and Rivain, her parents do not have many connections, and vashoth are not popular residents of the city either. They cannot expect much exemption from the written letter of the law.

After a great deal of debate, her parents decide that their only recourse is to flee. Lela helps them pack up their things. They do not have much money, so they make plans to stow away on the rail line to Starkhaven. Lela is instructed to tell no one that she knows anything about where they might be headed. She is to remain in the apartment until the social worker returns.

“We do not know when that could be. I may run out of food,” she points out. “Then I will starve and die.”

Her father keeps packing.

Her mother hesitates.

“Go to the chantry, if that happens,” she says. “Show them the brand on your chest, and tell them you believe in their Maker.”

“That would be a lie,” Lela observes.

Her mother looks away.

“Then learn to believe before the food runs out,” she tells her.

Lela is told to go into the other room, then, and so she does. She sits, and listens as her parents argue. They argue about immediate plans, and they rehash old fights. Fights about leaving Seheron. Fights about having Lela. Fights about the qun, and the rite, and monsters, and mistakes. Arguments that used to make her cringe. Now she listens to them, and absorbs the facts. They had her on a whim; they kept her out of obligation, and then fear. But there is nothing to fear about her, anymore. Her magic is gone. So now, there is nothing to keep them with her – nor with each other, it seems.

Lela was the great mistake of their lives. The undoing of their love, and hopes, and dreams.

It would have probably been better if she had never been born.

Objectively.

Not for herself, she supposes. Although…

…The thought dies, barely realized.

Her parents leave when it is dark. They take the important things that they can carry, just as they had done when they left Seheron, before Lela was born. Much is left behind. Lela knows enough to know that she will not be able to live in the apartment forever. She cannot pay rent, or utilities, and she is not of legal age. So, she keeps packing things, after her parents have gone. Cleaning up the messes they left in their wake, and organizing clothes, and books, and miscellaneous other objects. She sorts out her food, and sets about rationing it.

Four days, she thinks, if she stretches it. Then she will be out.

It is probably a good thing that she cannot feel afraid.

The days pass in lonely quiet. She considers going downstairs to the laundry room, but she does not need to do laundry. She watches television, and reads books; and when she runs out of food, she goes down onto the street. She does not know where the chantry is, so it takes her several hours to find it. She is very tired by the time she does.

The building is small, with coloured glass in its windows, and a wide mausoleum stretching out behind it. Full of urns, as she understands. She has seen many chantries on television. There are no statues in this one, however. The sign outside reads  _The Ansburg House of the Devoted Following of Andraste,_  but the symbol above it is a flower, rather than a sun.

The differences continue on inside. There are pews, and a pulpit, but the banners hanging from the ceiling do not have the same sun symbol that is scarred into Lela’s chest. The interior of the chantry is very quiet, and smells of incense, and there are a great many chimes and bells in the upper corners of the windows. The ceiling is not a towering spiral, and there are no sconces, or candles.

There is a woman vacuuming the carpet behind the pulpit.

She is human, and very plump, and she is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt instead of chantry robes or formal attire. The woman does not seem to realize that Lela is there, so after a minute, she sits down on one of the pews to rest.

At length, the vacuum stops.

The bells make pleasant sounds.

“Oh!” says the woman. “I didn’t realize anyone had come in. I’m sorry, dear.” She moves a little closer, and peers curiously at Lela. “Is your family new to our congregation? I had no idea we had any vashoth attending services. Or were you just curious about the building? You’re more than welcome either way, of course.”

Lela blinks.

“My mother said I should come here,” she says. “When I ran out of food.”

The woman’s welcoming smile falters.

“…Oh?” she asks. “Where’s your mother now?”

Lela shakes her head.

“I can’t answer that,” she says.

Carefully, the woman puts down the vacuum handle, and moves even closer to her. Lela is still very tired, but she stands up from the pew.

“My mother said I should show you my brand,” she explains, and then pulls down the collar of her shirt, until most of it is visible.

The woman inhales sharply, and then raises a hand to her mouth.

“Oh,  _no,”_  she says. “Oh, you poor thing! Why in the Maker’s name did – no, no, nevermind that. You came exactly to the right place, dear, you did the right thing. You just – you come with me, to one of the back rooms, and I’ll get you something to eat, and then we’ll make a few phone calls. Alright? You just, come with me…”

The woman is very kind. She urges Lela into a small office-like space, and gives her a plate of biscuits, and then she phones the police.

The world changes its most dramatically, after that. It probably says something about her life before, that suddenly being cut away from her emotions didn’t have nearly as much of an effect as the fallout of it all. She is taken to places. Different places. More than she has ever seen before in her life. She meets people, too, also more people than she’s seen in her life, and they ask her questions. They tell her things. There are news reporters and magazines, and angry people shouting about Mage Rights, and other angry people shouting about Tranquility, and old laws, and asking if her if she prefers life without her magic, or if she wants things to go back to the way they were.

She doesn’t know. She thinks she liked life best before her magic ever came. When she could still feel things. When her parents still smiled at her.

Her parents are caught. She doesn’t say where they were going, but the police still find them. They go to jail. Lela sits in a court house, in front of them, and a lawyer asks her questions, and she answers them. And when that’s done, one of her caretakers says, she can get her emotions back. And her magic back. She can be a demon again, she can feel like she did on the bridge again.

Lela thinks… she wants that, ultimately.

Maybe all those nights, where she dreamed about storms coming in and sweeping her away…

Maybe those weren’t actually nightmares after all.


	59. An Eye for an Eye

The criminal underbelly of Thedas is run by the Evanuris family.

The  _literal_  criminal underworld of Thedas is run by Carta.

Maibrit’s always known that the business her family does is not entirely legal. The Cadash name was synonymous with the Carta crime syndicate since before Fereldan became Fereldan. Her grandmother runs most of it, with her mother’s help. Her father’s biggest contribution to the family business is making all the fancy clocks in the main building.

Maibrit’s never thought much of following in her mother’s footsteps. She’d rather make clocks, if she had to choose between the two. She hopes though, that those aren’t her only two options.

But since she’s grown up with it, she’s always known what you talk about to others and what you don’t. There are certain matters that stay within the family, that are inherently understood, and that she’s not allowed to tell to her friends.

And there’s an unspoken understanding that the people some of her friends’ parents work for are not the kind of people you talk about either. No one asks, and no one tells. But the kids had never really thought about what might happen, with the two groups disliking each other. They were friends, and their parents liked each other.

So it was safe.

They’re fifteen when it happens.

Maibrit’s parents have a big cabin up in the Hinterlands, and they’re letting the kids stay up there for a week. Which is really cool, because there’s a guest cabin too, and that’s where Uthvir and Thenvunin will be staying, which means that  _they_  get the main house all to themselves.

They’ve already planned out most of the week, and she’s going to enjoy teaching everyone how to snowboard, and someone had sent her a text saying they were bringing the whole box set of Glandfield Girls, and someone else said they were bringing Are You Afraid of The Dark? So she’s pretty sure they’re set for movie nights.

She can’t wait. It’s going to be  _great_. It’s the first time everyone is going to be able to come, and they won’t have all of their parents smothering them and dropping in every ten minutes to make sure they’re not doing anything they shouldn’t. The only person they’ll have to worry about is Thenvunin, but Uthvir will keep them busy.

Uthvir understands that they’re all  _practically_  adults now. They’re the only one that doesn’t treat them all like kids. It’s great. Uthvir is definitely the coolest parent. Kel’s so lucky. Maibrit’s dad just makes clocks and tells bad jokes and constantly asks her what she’s doing and her mom probably has three spies on her at all times because that’s what she  _does_.

“Come on, I’ll drive you to Kel’s house,” Maibrit’s mother announces, pulling on her jacket and checking her watch. “It’s on the way to the charity brunch.”

Maibrit nods, hauling her duffel bag to the car before the butler can grab it. Her aunt Olida is coming along, since she’s one of the main contributors to the charity brunch, and she took the train all the way here from Orzammar for it.

“Mistress Cadash,” Arisas, her mother’s secretary clears his throat, “We just received word from Mr. Savary that there’s been a rescheduling of the financial board meeting. We’ll need to leave immediately.”

“Ah,” Her mother sighs, then turns to them both, “Alright then. I guess Thorley will need to take you. I’ll see you later for dinner, Olida, we have some files to go over. And you, little weasel, have a good time.” Her mother reaches over and ruffles her hair and Maibrit frowns. She is fifteen, this is totally  _lame_. “Tell Kel’s parents thank you for keeping you heathens under control, and try not to burn the house down, alright?”

“It isn’t like you couldn’t afford to build it again,” Maibrit mutters, and her aunt laughs and goes back to reading files on her tablet as she gets into the car. Maibrit waves to Arisas, who waves back and points at Maibrit’s duffel bag and winks before following her mother back into the house to gather some paperwork.

Maibrit settles in and puts on her seatbelt before pulling her duffel bag into her lap as the car pulls out of the driveway and onto the street. She unzips it and peeks inside and a grin spreads across her face. Nestled next to her sweater is a bag of candied mangoes. Her favorite.

Arisas is the  _best_. She’s going to give him a giant kiss when she gets home from the trip.

She’s just about to stick in her headphones when she hears an odd pop, distant, before the glass in the driver’s seat window shatters. Thorley slumps over the steering wheel, and there’s blood  _everywhere_ , as the car swerves into the oncoming traffic. Her aunt screams something, but it sounds like everything is underwater.

For some odd reason, all she can think is _, mom was supposed to be driving us today._

Something hits the car from the left side, she hears metal crunch and glass crack, a piece of it slices into her cheek and another hits her eye—it’s burning, she opens her mouth, just as the car flips. The world tilts, time slows, and the sound of a car horn blares before the car slams back down and metal screeches as they slid several feet.

Her body snaps forward, and the seatbelt nearly chokes her as sparks dance in her vision and she can’t tell if it’s the metal or her aunt screaming, and there’s smoke, so much smoke…and she can’t see very well. It all hurts…

Her world goes black.

She wakes up slowly to the sound of an ambulance and her seatbelt digging into her neck. She’s…hanging upside down, barely strapped in, staring down at the crumbled roof of the car through tears and blood.

“Maibrit, baby, wake up, are you awake?”

That’s her aunt. Her aunt’s ok then. She’s ok. She tries to turn her head but her neck aches, a lancing pain shooting down her spine that makes her still. “Aunt Olida?” She calls out, voice cracking.

“Oh baby, I’m here. It’s ok. The ambulance is here. We’re going to be fine.”

Her neck hurts, she can’t think straight. And her eye. Her eye. It hurts to badly. She reaches up her hands to touch it, and her fingers slide along a length of glass and pain explodes in her head.

She screams.

The world goes black again.

—

The next time she wakes up, she finds herself staring up at a white paneled ceiling and the smell of disinfectant fills the room. Her heads is fuzzy, and her tongue feels thick in her mouth. It takes a lot of effort to keep her eyes open. Eye. She can’t seem to open the right one and she stops trying after a few moments.

There’s an annoying beeping echoing in the room and an odd pressure around her head, and she turns a bit to see a machine to her right. She groans, and finds her vision filled with her father’s anxious, bearded face. The tip of it tickles her nose, and she sneezes. He pulls back, looking her over anxiously.

It takes her a while to form the words. “…where’m I?”

“Orzammar,” Her father replies. Orzammar? That’s really far. They would have had to fly her out of the city and then take the Underground. Why go so far, when the Evanuris family’s hospital was the best in the city—oh. Maibrit swallows, and her mouth feels like it’s full of cotton.

“..s’Aunt Olida?”

“She’s in the other room. She’s alright. She broke her arm, but other than that it’s mostly scrapes and bruises.”

She knows better than to ask if Thorley is alright. She remembers the sight of his blood splattering across the window shield before the car had flipped. She swallows, chest tight. Thorley’s been with the family—been a  _member_  of the family—since she was two. Thorley was the one who dropped her off at school every morning, and snuck a cherry pastry in her bag when her mom said she shouldn’t have sweets so often.

Her lip trembles, and she can feel the tears forming. She feels them slid down her left cheek, and reaches up in confusion to her left and feels gauze under her fingertips. “…dad…?” She asks in a frightened whisper. Her voice is smaller than she’s ever heard it before.

“Weasel…” Her father pauses.

It’s her grandmother who speaks, voice stern and practical, as she and Maibrit’s mom walk into the room. “They couldn’t save your eye.”

Her father looks like he wants to cry too. Her mother’s gaze is pitying, but she lifts her chin and gives Maibrit’s a hand a firm squeeze. Her grandmother’s is closed off, just like the woman herself.

…oh… she reaches up a hand to brush the bandage again and swallows. It’s just an eye, right? It isn’t that big of a deal. She’s still alive. Thorley lost his life. All she lost was an eye. “Cool,” She gives a bright smile, even as her lips tremble and she feels tears stream down her cheek. “I get to be a pirate now, huh?”

—

She’s going to go  _crazy_ here. Her family won’t let anyone come visit—not that she expects any of her friends to come all the way to Orzammar just to sit in a hospital room with her—and despite the VIP treatment, the food is still sub-par. She’d give anything for some takeout from her favorite Tevene restaurant, or even some cheap Fereldan burgers. Dwarven food is just…not her thing.

She wonders if everyone’s mad at her for ruining their trip. She asks Arisas if they all went without her, but Arisas shakes his head and tells her that they cancelled the trip after the accident. She’d kind of hoped they’d go anyway, just because everyone had been looking forward to it for ages. Even if she felt a bit left out, she would have wanted them to go.

They send her flowers, and cards, and she messages them online, but she refuses to get on video chat. She…doesn’t want them to see her eye. Not yet. She still can’t look in a mirror.

Four days into her hospital stay, her grandmother visit again and tells Arisas and her father and the nurse to leave and makes her way to the chair beside Maibrit’s bed, cane thumping against polished marble with each step.

She settles in and places her hands in her lap. “Maibritren-Partha,” She watches her coolly, “There is something I wish to discuss with you.” Her grandmother is the only one that ever calls her by her full name, and only ever does so when something serious has happened.

Maibrit swallows, and sits up a bit more on the bed. “Yes grandmother?”

“You have lost an eye, but I can give you back your sight.”

There is always a catch when her grandmother offers something, even to the people she loves. Some kind of hidden motive. Maibrit shifts uncomfortably. “…what would I have to do?”

Her grandmother reaches into her sleeve and pulls out a large, faceted ruby. “There is a way to enchant this to return your sight…or a version of it. You will not see things the way you once did. It has not been effectively transplanted before, however. And it will be painful. There is a chance that, if it goes wrong, you will lose sight in your other eye as well.”

Maibrit’s stomach flips. She could go blind? There’s no way she’s doing it. No way at all. She’ll keep her stupid eye-patch and maybe cut off a hand so she can get a hook or something to complete her look. There’s no way she’s going to let someone shove a rock into her eye socket and potentially go blind. Or worse. Enchantments like that are volatile. There could be a chance that it could do more than just make her go blind. And it’s never been done successfully…

No way. She begins to shake her head and stops. She could…she could have two eyes again. Maybe it wouldn’t be a real eye, but it would be something. She’d be able to see—and do more than see, most likely. There’s no way her grandmother would just waste all that magic and time so she could gain sight in an eye again. It’s  _got_  to do more than that, because her grandmother would never just give her something like this for the sake of being nice.

“Your parents would not approve of this procedure,” Her grandmother continues.

That is another warning sign, if even her pragmatic mother does not agree. It means the risks outweigh the end results, at least in her eyes. But she knew that. If there’s a chance of death, her mother would never agree. Her mother, she knows, would never put her life on the line.

Her grandmother would, if it served some other purpose. She’s got plenty of grandchildren, even if Maibrit is the eldest child of her eldest child.

But if she does this. She’ll be normal again. Or  _closer_  to normal. She’ll have something to show her friends for all of this, rather than be met with pitying looks.

“…ok…” Maibrit feels like she’s signing away her soul. “Ok. I’ll do it.”

—

Somehow her grandmother gets her parents out of the hospital on the day of the procedure. Her mother tells Arisas he has to stay with her, and she wants him to. She wants him to so badly. But then her grandmother comes into the room and orders him away.

He refuses.

“I work for your daughter, Madame Cadash, not you.”

“You work for the Cadash family and I am its head. That means when I give you an order, I expect it to be obeyed.”

Maibrit squeezes Arisas’ hand tightly. “It’s ok,” She tells him in a soft voice, “You can go.”

“I won’t leave—”

“It’s ok. I’ll be ok.” She looks up at him, and when she meets his eyes, she can see that he knows. If he knows, it must mean her mother does too, in some form. It means her mother agreed to it in the end, and took her father away, right?

So this is the right choice?

“If you want to leave, I will take you.” Arisas says, and she believes him. If she told him right now she wanted to go, he’d fight his way through all of Orzammar to make it happen. She gives his hand one final squeeze.

“Do they sell candied mangos in Orzammar?”

His gaze softens, “I don’t know. Would you like me to go and find you some?”

“Yes please.” She doesn’t feel fifteen and nearly an adult anymore. She feels very small, and very young, and very afraid. But she manages to let go of his hand, and watches as he leaves the room. She takes several deep breaths, as the nurses tell her to lie back.

She does so, and they slowly tighten a strap around her forehead to keep her head in place for the surgery. Her hands are shaking, so she holds them together, fingers laced, on her stomach.

She won’t have any pain killers. Nothing that could interfere with the enchantment process. But…that’s ok, right? They’re just shoving a giant rock into her empty eye socket. It’ll probably hurt a little bit, but it won’t be as bad as the car accident. She doesn’t think anything could be that bad.

Her grandmother leans down and kisses her forehead, lips pressed right below the leather strap holding her in place, before murmuring the family saying, “Kalnath-par kallak, Kalnath-gat parthas.”  _Family through War, Family unto Peace._

Maibrit swallows, as the masked nurses slip her wrists and ankles through leather braces, and tightens another one around her shoulders and hips. Her heartbeat echoes in her ears.

And then her grandmother pulls away, and only Maibrit hears the next words.

“Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc.”

The formal words spoken during the rite of the dead.

Maibrit turns to her, color draining from her face, but her grandmother is already moving toward the door. “Grandma, wait!  _Wait_ —”

The door closes shut, and she strains against the bonds. She lied. She’s scared. She doesn’t want to do this anymore. She tries to tell the doctors, but no one listens. They move above her, talking to themselves, even as she screams at them to let her go.

She doesn’t want to do this. She wants to go home. She wants to see her mom and her dad and Arisas.  _She doesn’t want to do this_. She wants Arisas back. She doesn’t care about the candied mangos. She wants Arisas back.

Someone looms over her with some kind of tool, but she can barely see through her tears. She wants to go home.  _She’s so scared_.

They slice into the skin around her eye socket, peeling it back. It stings, more than stings. She can’t move her head, but she begs them to stop. The pain peters out, as blood drips across her nose and down her cheek and she continues to sob.

Then they begin carving the bone.

The scraping sound thrums through her body. It feels like someone’s scooping everything out of her, bit by bit. Stripping off pieces in thin strips. Like papercut after papercut after papercut after papercut after papercut after—

They pull back and she lets out one last sob.

_It’s over. Please let it be over._  She doesn’t know how long she’s lain here screaming. Her voice is gone, and her throat is sore. Everything aches.  _Please, just let it be over_. She barely even feels it as they stitch the skin up back over carved bone. Tiny pinpricks of nothingness as her body goes numb with relief.

She remembers the ruby just as they shove it into the socket.

It  _burns_.

White hot pain lances through her skull. Her eye socket feels like it’s been filled with molten lead. She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. Her throat is on fire, the heat from her eye trailing down through body.

She tries to lift up off the table, but the straps hold fast, digging into skin.

And suddenly she can see.

She sees  _everything_.

She sees tiny flickering lights all around her, sees them through the bones of the doctor standing above her. The world has gone crimson, and she sees it all.

And then, once more, her world goes black.


	60. Snippets

Thenvunin knows a lot about sedate, indoor activities that are actually entertaining to children.

So when an organizing kerfuffle ends with Rissa at their door after school hours are done, holding her overnight bag in one hand and gripping Tasallir’s fingers with the others, and Tasallir makes a quiet comment about ‘no excitement’, he doesn’t blink. Kel is still at kickboxing, and Uthvir is out in the garden, sitting in the shade and engaging in some odd semi-truce, semi-bonding practice with Screecher. A new habit of theirs, in this late stage of their pregnancy.

Thenvunin and Rissa go and say hello, and Rissa pats Uthvir’s stomach and says hello to the baby, too, before curling her fingers into Thenvunin’s hand, and unleashing a tremendous sigh.

“Can you read me a story, Uncle Thenvunin?” she asks, with the air of someone who knows that most avenues of entertainment and play have been closed to her.

Thenvunin bends down, and carefully scoops her up; dropping a kiss onto her cheek, as he carries her back inside.

“I have a better idea,” he declares. “Let’s make our own story.”

Rissa blinks, a little bit curious, now, as they head inside; and Thenvunin takes her to his room, and digs a box out of his closet. An older box, full of interesting photos and scraps and magazine cuttings. It’s not his invention, in fact. Aelynthi came up with it when they were children; always adding new things to it. When they were in middle school he laminated the collection, and Rissa blinks as she finds all the odd, glossy images. Pictures of animals, celebrities, models, buildings, scenery, plants, decorations – all different styles, whatever had seemed interesting to a couple of Arlathan children, that they could appropriate for their games.

“Here’s how it works,” Thenvunin says. “You pick something out, and tell me part of a story about it. And then I’ll pick something else, and I’ll add it to the story. And we’ll keep going and going, until the story finishes, or we get bored. Whichever happens first.”

Rissa blinks, and carefully ventures a hand into the box.

“What do we do when get bored?” she wonders.

“Something more fun,” Thenvunin says. “Unless you’d rather not play with me.”

Rissa shakes her head, and reaches over and pats his arm.

“No, I like you Uncle Thenvunin,” she assures him. “We can play.” And then she reaches into the box, and rummages a bit, before pulling out a picture of an astronaut.

Thenvunin smiles.

 

~

Two months after the announcement of her third pregnancy, Tasallir kidnaps Serahlin.

The move is less carefully orchestrated than most of his. Adannar had been set to take several days’ vacation from work, as Serahlin also took some steps back to make certain she could afford proper attention and self-care to this pregnancy. She describes it to Tasallir as an ‘indulgence’, but he has learned that Serahlin often terms things ‘indulgence’ when what she truly means is that they make her happy.

And he is in favour of her happiness. Indulged or otherwise.

So Adannar had meant to take a vacation, but then a new client had come into the city for a special event and had been very insistent, it seems, on custom pieces. The pay was very good. Serahlin, Tasallir knows, worries over the possibilities of medical expenses cutting into the financial stockpiles which they have all made for their existing children’s futures. And the pregnancy is not far along; it is perfectly reasonable of Adannar to seize this opportunity while it is here, and take his vacation later.

But this event coincided with a school study trip to the other side of the city’s national park, which is vast and sprawling and filled with wildlife reserves, and is a good educational experience for most Arlathan school children. Isabela and Rissa are going, as is Ileth, and Tonlen has gotten the all-clear from his doctor so long as he behaves himself. Many schools empty out for a few days this time of year, as the children go in shifts, and it is normally all well and good – Ana has volunteered to be one of the parent supervisors, as she often does – but it means, Tasallir knows, that Serahlin will be alone in an empty house.

When Adannar is supposed to be with her.

And is not.

At a time when she is, understandably, still concerned about the stability of this pregnancy.

So, three hours after the girls have finished packing and Tasallir has kissed them goodbye and reminded them to leave nothing and take nothing from the park, he drives over to his sister’s house and lets himself in.

The dogs greet him with restrained enthusiasm; they know better than to jump up on him. He offers them each a perfunctory head pat, and then goes and finds Serahlin sitting in the kitchen, in one of her robes, blinking in surprise.

“Oh,” she says. “Tasallir. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I apologize for the abruptness,” he says. The realization of the situation had not struck him until an hour ago. Time enough to schedule some appointments and reservations, but when he had phoned Serahlin the call had gone to voice mail. “But we will have to hurry if we are going to get to the day spa in time. Their new line of sustainably-sourced skin treatments are pregnancy-safe, but the appointment schedule for them is rather restrictive, as they require several hours of relaxation in order to set.”

Serahlin blinks at him.

And then she smiles at him.

She looks very rumpled and dishevelled. But it is morning, and she lives with two children, several wild beasts, and Adannar; and unlike Tasallir, she does not have the luxury of entombing herself in her bedchambers until she is fit to be seen every morning. She has only  _one_  co-parent, after all, and the dogs are hardly helpful.

“I took the liberty of making some lunch reservations as well. But if any of this is unsuitable, we can cancel,” he assures her. He weighed the decision and determined that though there would be some cancellation fees, this approach would be easiest.

Serahlin makes the gesture she makes when she is about to cry, and does not wish him to look at her face. He averts his gaze by pretending to check his watch.

Which, contrary to what Venavismi might claim, is not ‘lame’ and ‘out-dated’, but in fact, very modern. Fashion tends to work in cycles, and his pocket watch is very high-tech, including GPS, a calendar setting, and adjustments for various timezones.

“I’m going to get ready and when I get back I’m going to hug you,” Serahlin says.

Tasallir checks the time in southern Antiva.

“I appreciate the warning,” he assures her.

~

Sometimes, Kel knows, being a mage is very frightening.

This is not something that anyone has ever explicitly told her. But she remembers the first time Ileth got his magic, and how frightened and upset he was about it. She remembers the book Grandnanae Melarue got everyone, that talked about self-acceptance and how being a mage wasn’t bad – and she knows that if Ash’s mama had to write a book about it, then some people must think that to begin with. Sometimes Olwyn has moments when she needs to go and find a quiet place to calm down, and sometimes Felasel does, too, and Kel knows it has to do with their magic.

The grown-ups are, of course, grown-ups, but she thinks it still counts.  There are times when Nanae wears lots of layers, and doesn’t want to go outside, or see anyone they don’t already know. And she’s heard some stories about Aunt Selene’s accidental fires – nobody gets really angry or scared about them, but Kel is pretty sure that it must have  _been_  scary sometimes. And there are days when Uncle Aelynthi gets really mad about Mage Issues, and Uncle Aelynthi, she knows, prefers to get mad rather than scared. Uncle Victory told that to her, once, when she was worried that her uncle was angry with her.

Everyone gets frightened  _sometimes,_  of course. But Kel supposes it’s different when something about you is what’s scary. Or when it’s things that other people can’t see, like ghosts and spirits and spells. Sometimes she thinks about invisible spirits, waiting on the other side of her dreams, that she can’t see or hear or speak to, and she doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that she can’t.

But nobody gets to pick, anyway, and at least if Kel doesn’t  _think_  about spirits lurking around then she can just go about her business and not be bothered. She almost never gets nightmares, or remembers much about her dreams, and she can’t make fireworks or rainbows come out of her fingers, but she also doesn’t have to worry about accidentally frying her phone with magic static or anything. Mean spirits don’t try to talk to her. They don’t try and hurt her, like with what happened to Ileth that time, or confuse her, or trick her.

Ashokara is a mage.

Kel’s only met her a few times. She’s Grandnanae Melarue’s daughter, and sometimes she visits with Olwyn and her parents. The last time Kel saw her was at a sleepover, which was a lot of fun, but Ash had been pretty quiet until Olwyn said they should play dress-up, and then she’d perked up. Only Kel got a little bored with dress-up so she decided to go toast marshmallows with Uncle Victory in the kitchen instead. Which meant they hadn’t really talked all that much.

When Ash comes to stay with her mom and Grandnanae Melarue, to help with the new baby, though, Papae tells Kel that she’s going to have to be a good hostess, because babies are a lot of work and she’s still too young to do things like change diapers – which she’s not complaining about, to be honest – or hold the baby unless a grown up is there. So her job is going to be making sure all of the people who visit are okay and doing her usual chores and what Nanae calls her ‘self-appointed missions’.

Her new sister is cute and small and Kel loves her, but she’s still too little to do anything fun with yet.

Which means Kel is pretty okay with taking over hosting duties. Nanae’s still recovering from making a whole entire person, but they’re still wearing lots of layers which means they want everything to be secure, so Kel sets up a schedule and goes and checks all the things in the house. She makes sure the locks are locked, and the oven is turned off, and the windows are shut in the rooms no one’s using. Sometimes Grandnanae Melarue comes, and checks the wards with her.

The evening after Kel’s sister finally gets her full name, Melarue goes with her to make sure the garden gate is locked, and that all of Nanae’s protections are still working.

“Do you worry about everyone being safe a lot, Kel?” Melarue asks her, as she peers up to make sure Screecher’s nest is alright. It’s evening time, and the big bird is settling in to roost, along with most of the others.

She glances at her grandnanae, and shrugs.

“I guess?” she says. “Doesn’t everybody?”

“Mostly. I didn’t mean to imply it was strange,” Melarue assures her. “It’s just that you seem very dedicated to checking the house. I hope you know that it’s still very safe, even while your nanae is recovering and looking after the baby.”

Kel nods in understanding.

“I know,” she says. “But Nanae always checks things. It makes them feel better.”

Melarue glances at her, and takes her hand as they go to leave the garden.

“And it makes you feel better, too?” they suppose.

“Yup. And it still makes Nanae feel better, because they trust me,” she declares, happily. She likes being trusted. It’s something to take very seriously, she knows, because once you betray someone’s trust, then they probably won’t give it back to you. It’s precious and easy to break – like Papae’s crystal swans, that he keeps in the big display case near the front hall.

Her parents have let her hold those swans, very carefully. Just like they’ve let her hold her sister, very carefully. It makes her feel very mature, like when she gets put in charge of group projects, or when someone asks her for help.

And Kel likes helping. Even indirectly. She can’t really help with the things that are scary about magic – she can’t really help with people’s ‘inside-problems’, that they don’t want to talk about. But she can help with other things, and that means they have less stress and less worry, so they’re stronger. So they can tell off mean spirits and practice their spells and make wards that keep away bad things. It’s like, she thinks, when Papae works late, so Nanae makes him breakfast in the morning. They can’t change Papae’s work. But they can make other stuff easier.

She explains this to her grandnanae, even though she’s pretty sure Melarue already knows this stuff. Melarue’s an adult, and most adults seem to.

And after she’s finished Melarue just nods, so she figures that’s that. They go back inside to have a snack. Kel sits up at the bar and watches as Melarue heats up some of the leftovers Papae made, and make theirs spicier, and lets her try it until she wrinkles her nose and has to go and get a glass of water to wash out the burning taste.

“It’s nice that  _you_  like it that way,” she says.

Melarue chuckles at her, but not meanly.

And then they get very thoughtful and far-away as they eat. Which Kel’s sort of used to. Papae daydreams and Nanae says a lot of things without saying them, and Kel doesn’t mind the quiet. She’s better at being quiet than she is at sitting still, most of the time.

“Kel,” Melarue says, at length. In that ‘I’m going to ask you do something’ tone. She’s expecting it to be the dishes.

“Would you do me a favour, and be friends with Ashokara?”

Kel blinks.

That’s weird.

“I’m already friends with Ash,” she says. Maybe not  _excellent_  friends, but they’ve only met a few times. Still, though, Kel’s pretty sure it counts.

Melarue inclines their head, and then their smile goes all rueful.

“Of course,” they say, and reach over, and brush her cheek.

Kel likes when they do that. Her Grandmamae used to do it, too. It’s one of the things she remembers really well about her, along with how she smelled, and the dark purple dress she wore to Papae and Nanae’s wedding.

“I won’t be mean or rude,” she promises, just for good measure.

“It never crossed my mind that you might be,” Melarue assures her.

 

~

 

Thenvunin has had a sad day at work.

Not as sad as  _some_ days, though. Not depressing, or horrifying, or numbing. Just rather sad.

One of the cases he’s been working is one of his fonder. A dwarven immigrant family, living in the lower end of Falon’Din’s district, got in his files after a teacher reported incidents of their son displaying ‘disturbing behaviour’. Thenvunin barely needed five minutes to figure out that the situation was not sinister so much as just awkward, however – Sandal does not have the  _typical_  mentality of a dwarven child, but he is very intelligent and well looked-after by his adoptive father.

After a quick inspection and some conversation, Bodahn readily agreed that his son could use some special attention at school to make certain he wasn’t being overlooked, or getting distracted and making any more incendiary devices in the storage rooms. Immigrant families often aren’t informed of what government assistance they have access to upon moving to the city. Often, in Thenvunin’s experience, many teachers do not even know themselves. It took a few phone calls to the school and some arrangements with the local assistance programs, but eventually, he’d found an in-school assistant whose expenses were covered by the city’s student welfare policies.

For the past few months, then, he’s just been making the occasional check-in. Check-ins can garner any number of receptions. Thenvunin has had families who scowled and threatened and refused to let him in the door; he’s had familiar who anxiously scrubbed every bare inch of space they could reach and clearly dressed their children in their best clothes, fretting and making certain everyone was on their finest behaviour. And everything in between.

Bodahn has been one of those parents who makes tea, and takes the opportunity to talk and talk and  _talk_  about his son. He asks about Thenvunin’s own daughters, too, and on more than one occasion Thenvunin has been sorely tempted to pull out some of his photos. But he has a policy against letting any of the families he works with see his children. There are too many ways in which things could go wrong, in which someone might blame him, might think ‘this man took my children away, so I’m going to take his’.

Safety first, in the end. Especially where his girls are concerned.

Today, though, today had been his last time checking in with Bodahn. Sandal’s school performance is up, and Bodahn’s managed to get himself a better paying job in Ferelden, that’s offered to cover their moving expenses. Ferelden is closer to Orzammar, and overall kinder to dwarves, and Thenvunin is very glad for the little family and wishes them nothing but the best.

But he thinks he is going to miss having chats with Bodahn.

He gets home, feeling just a little bit sad over it. Strips off his coat and takes off his shoes, and wonders where everyone is. Kel is at school still, he knows, but Uthvir had planned to work from home today, and look after Virevas and Eda. They could have gone out, though, he supposes, as he drifts through the quiet house, and finds the living room and nursery empty.

He’s just considering sending them a text when he passes by the office door, and stops.

Blankets, he sees, at first.

Blinking, Thenvunin pushes the door open a little wider. Someone, it seems, has gone and made a blanket fort in Uthvir’s study. Big enough to take up half of the room, using some of the wall decorations as supports, and covering the desk completely. He has to get onto his hands and knees to find the opening, and when he does, he crawls through to discover what must be half the pillows in the house, and more blankets. A soft toy owl he nearly kneels on, and a pair of Virevas’ discarded socks.

And Uthvir.

And Virevas.

And Eda.

And Asarla, too, it seems.

The girls are flopped over and napping amidst the central nest of the fort, one baby on either side of Uthvir; who is sitting cross-legged in what seems to be a very comfortable position, quietly tapping away on their laptop. Eda is curled up at their back, only visible in terms of being a lump of blankets and a tuft of hair.

They look up at Thenvunin, and raise a finger to their lips.

Thenvunin feels like he might actually melt into a puddle of softness right on the spot. Oh, it is too much, he thinks. Asarla has one of Virevas’ stuffed unicorns clutched in her hands, and Virevas has decided to clutch Uthvir’s thigh instead, and Uthvir is wearing their softest, coziest pair of pyjama pants, and one of  _Thenvunin’s_  old t-shirts.

Where did they even get that? Thenvunin thought he threw it out. It has holes in hem, and the colour has all faded out of it; the lettering is all gone, and the collar is stretched out and open towards Uthvir’s collarbones, and…

Thenvunin is going to stop noticing things about that, now, because there are sleeping babies in this fort.

He can’t possibly be expected to  _leave,_  though. There are  _sleeping babies_  in this fort. And  _Uthvir._  And it all warm and soft and remarkably comfortable, and makes Thenvunin wish he was in his comfiest clothes, too, and not still wearing his belt and tie from work. But he can’t leave to go change. What if he accidentally jostles the fort and wakes the girls?

So instead, after a few minutes, he settles for carefully taking off his tie and his belt, at least, and moving them out of the fort; and then settling down into the pillows and blankets again, resting on his stomach, and folding his arms under his chin. Listening to sleeping children and typing Uthvir. His eyelids begin to droop after a while, and he feels the tension just bleed out of him.

_Yes,_  he thinks.

This is just what he needed.

This is perfect.

~

It takes three weeks after Virevas is born for Uthvir to start completely changing their shape again.

It takes three weeks more for them to feel comfortable with having Virevas out of their sight. For any extended length of time, at least. They can manage if she’s with Thenvunin, but almost anyone else tends to itch and itch at them, even when they know that she is not liable to come to harm in their care.

But finally –  _finally_  – it comes to the point where they are itching more to do other things, to get back into the swing of them, than to give in to Fear’s incessant whispering.

They start out small. Go out to dinner with Thenvunin, and Kel, at one of their eldest’s favourite restaurants. It’s just an hour or so, and they manage. Melarue and Kass watch Virevas, and Ashokara goes to sleepover that Olwyn is having. They drop Kel off at her uncles’ house after dinner, having planned the evening to accommodate some additional privacy at home; but when they actually get back, Uthvir finds themselves scooping up little Virevas again, and the only exciting bedroom activities include midnight feedings and some spit up.

Overall, though, they deem it a success.

The next night Melarue and Kass go on a date of their own, and Thenvunin discovers that Ashokara likes pretty clothes, so Uthvir spends a quiet evening at home with their daughters while their husband takes  his best friend’s nanae’s daughter off to go and discover some of the wonders of Arlathan’s downtown boutiques. Not, they suspect, that Melarue hasn’t already done this, but Thenvunin’s splurge shopping is harder to curb and less rife with the complexities of the relationship between Melarue and Kass.

Uthvir still texts a warning to Ashokara’s mother, as a courtesy.

_My husband is going to spoil your daughter. I am afraid there was no stopping him._

There’s a brief pause.

_Please don’t buy her anything too large to transport out of your house,_  Kass requests.

Fair enough.

Uthvir doubts they’ll buy anything that won’t fit in the car, since they’re clothes shopping. And besides, Thenvunin is sensible enough that if he  _does_  buy anything that needs to be delivered – like a new bedframe built for growing girls with growing horns – then he’ll just have it sent to their permanent address.

The intrepid party returns well before bed time. Ashokara shows off her new purchases to Kel, who compliments a lot of her choices for being durable and sensible and comfortable; and this type of praise seems to suit Ash, which is good. Uthvir helps the girls build a fort in Kel’s room, and Thenvunin tucks them in and tells them a story, and then insists on seeing to Virevas’ next feeding, and the necessary bath afterwards.

Uthvir feels relaxed and easy, and mostly calm.

But that itch is still there under their skin, too. They’re looking for a work again, while Thenvunin takes time off. Things have been soft and safe and cloistered for their pregnancy, and that worked, but it’s not their preferred method of defense, either. They want to…

Assert themselves, they suppose. Make a little mischief. Take care of their husband.

Hmm.

A few days later, they manage to leave Virevas and Kel at home, with Ana and Tasallir volunteering their babysitting services – meaning there are no less than  _four_  fully capable adults who have raised their own children in the house – and take Thenvunin, and book one of the nicer honeymoon hotels in the Sylaise District. They bring the box from their closet, and have a few special requests seen to for the room, and Thenvunin is already shivering as they back him into it. Letting a certain degree of prowl come into their step.

“Well, well,” they say. “Looks like it’s just you and me, my prince.”

They smirk.

Their husband swoons.

And to their credit, they get a full hour into the swing of things before they call a time-out to check on things at home.

~

The babies are talking.

Kel watches in amusement as her little sister sits in the padded play pen with Asarla, and the two of them making baby-noises at each other. Happy burbles and question-sounding noises and a few very firm-sounding demands, for all that they come out as ‘agaa’ more than anything. Varawell is in his little auto-rocker, too tiny yet to be left alone with the girls; though he’s definitely getting bigger by the day.

The girls move their soft blocks around, and Asarla lifts up a pink one. Kel can’t see anything to distinguish it from the others apart from colours; all of the blocks seem to be more or less randomly scattered and slightly chewed at this point.

“Azza?” Virevas says, in a tone of perfect outrage, as she frowns at her friend.

“Ba ba,” Asarla replies, wholly dismissive and unconcerned.

Kel’s lips twitch, and Uncle Adannar chuckles.

And then Virevas reaches for the block, her chubby little hand missing the grab as Asarla lifts it and starts chewing on it, and apparently that’s a bridge too far. Virevas’ eyebrows drop, and her little mouth screws up, and Kel knows they’re about two seconds away from some kind of baby throw-down.

“Virevas!” she exclaims, loud and excited.

Varawell makes a sound of protest.

But her sister looks over, and Kel beams and starts waving her hands, and scrambles over to the play pen to start distracting her sister from the Block Thing.

“Bee boss!” Virevas exclaims, throwing up her hands, and Uncle Adannar starts chuckling outright.

Thank goodness babies have short attention spans, she thinks.

~

Varawell and Virevas start attending dance lessons when they’re both four years old.

It’s a little young for anyone who’s not gunning to get their children into professional dancing, but Varawell likes to move, and when Ana announces that they’re going to set him up with Nithroel earlier than they’d done with Isabela and Rissa, Uthvir seizes the opportunity and suggests that Virevas go along, too.

They haven’t told anyone about her shapeshifting yet. And come to it, they don’t really need to. Uthvir can teach her. But they’ve been working more, while Thenvunin stays home to look after the girls again, and it’s just easier at the moment if Thenvunin can take Virevas to lessons and Uthvir can supplement the basics later on down the road. There isn’t a repeat of the Fang Incident, and given that Virevas slept like a log through the night and well into the next morning, they suspect she’s subconsciously picked up on some of her limitations.

So Varawell and Virevas attend dance lessons, and Uthvir keeps a sharp eye out; and they’re surprised when they sharp eye catches Varawell changing his hair colour, before it lands on Virevas doing something along those lines again.

Little prodigies.

Uthvir’s guts twist at the thought. The spotlight is a dangerous thing. Prodigious mage children can meet any number of fates in Tevinter, and only a few of them are enviable; and even among those, many are harsh and unkind. Virevas and Varawell look soft and small and already they can feel their hackles raising.

It is a force of effort to calm down. To remind themselves that they are not without the means to buffer the children away from the dangers of being talented.

They have a word with Varawell’s parents – all of them – and then by next week, both children are arranged in their apartment’s living room. Dressed in their dance clothes, as Uthvir wears their work-out gear, and has them push back all the furniture, and then sit down to watch.

They let themselves get rusty. But after the Fang Incident, they started practicing again. On and off, when they could find them time. Usually letting Thenvunin ‘catch’ them at it, before their practice was through. The wings come as easily as ever, glossy brown fluttering. Virevas has seen them before, but Varawell has not.

He shifts in place and makes an odd motion with his hands, like he’s trying to figure out how the physics of their body have changed.

Uthvir gives him a moment, and then starts to move.

It’s a fairly simple display. But when they’re finished, both of the children seem very eager to learn how to grow their own wings and do their own dance.

“You might not be able to,” they say. “It manifests differently for different people. But learning how to move with the new shapes your body can take on is important. You could injure yourself if you do it wrong.”

Virevas nods, quickly, and Varawell shifts impatiently in his spot.

“Okay but  _how_  do you do it, Nabae?” he asks.

Uthvir has the pair of them bring over a few couch cushions to make things a little comfier, and settles in to explain.

~

Eda’s first birthday party after her parents’ death is a more understated affair than most of the birthday parties Thenvunin has thrown.

Not for any lack of willingness on his part to go the full mile, of course. But while Thenvunin is in the midst of planning a typical birthday party, Uthvir asks Eda a few questions, and then comes and leans against his desk and advises him to scrap most of his ideas.

“She’s nervous,” they say. “She doesn’t want so many people paying attention to her, even if she knows most of them by now. And this is all still new to her. Her parents didn’t have much, remember? There’s a good chance she’ll feel guilty, if it’s too lavish. Like she had to trade her old life for her new one, and considering what happened…”

Thenvunin frowns, and then feels ashamed of himself for not considering it further. Of course. If they do this wrong, then it could ruin birthday parties for Eda forever; she’s still been having troubles, of late, with  _letting_  herself be happy sometimes. He’s caught her at it himself. Smiling, laughing, and then losing steam and looking like she’s gotten whiplash.

He hesitates, considering.

“I would like to do  _something,_  but what do you think…?”

Uthvir reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, reassuring.

“Just keep it simple,” they say. “We can each give her a gift. Have a cake, some balloons. Some games. Ask her who she wants to invite, if anyone. There doesn’t need to be a guest list.”

Thenvunin nods, and then picks the phone back up to cancel the order for the bouncy castle.

Maybe next year.

He gets up from his desk, and goes and finds Eda out in the garden. Lying in the sunlight, with leaves in her hair, staring up at the trees as some of his songbirds busily build their new nest. He’d had to clear away the old one after a recent storm did some damage to it, and brought them new materials. They’ve actually been quite pleased with the development, though. He suspects he’ll be checking for eggs, before long.

He makes sure she knows he’s there, and then settles into one of the benches. Giving her some time to decide if she wants to come over or not, as he lets out a long breath, and inhales the familiar sights and sounds of the garden.

Screecher flaps down to steal his attention, while Eda is still distracted.

But then, like a little magnet, Thenvunin’s foster daughter pulls herself up and comes over, too. Interested in Screecher, as she ventures cautious fingers forward to pet. Thenvunin has already shown her how best to approach, and is pleased to see that she remembers.

For a few minutes they both simply sit and dote on Screecher, who preens under the attention. Settling onto the arm of the bench, and soliciting some face scritches.

Finally, Thenvunin breaks the silence.

“So,” he says. “Your birthday is coming up.”

Eda hesitates.

He doesn’t press; after a moment, though, she turns, looking for her chalkboard. She spies it back where she was lying down, and goes and fetches it. Thenvunin’s offered to get her a tablet, but she likes the board. She has a whiteboard, too, although he’s beginning to think she enjoys the texture and feel of the chalk between her fingers.

_I don’t need anything,_  she writes, and holds it up for him.

His heart twists.

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” he tells her. “I like arranging birthdays, though. We could keep things very simple. Just you and us, and anyone you would like to have over – or no one, if that’s what you want. Maybe a cake?”

Eda hesitates again, and seems to turn the idea over for a few minutes. Thenvunin gives her the time, and after a while, she wipes her slate clean and starts writing again.

_Chocolate?_  she asks.

He lets out a breath of relief.

“Chocolate cake?” he checks, and she nods. “Of course! Do you want to come and look at the bakery website and pick one out? They make all kinds.”

Eda bites her lip, but after a moment, nods in faint excitement.

Thenvunin leans forward, and wraps an arm around her shoulders; and kisses her forehead.

Thank goodness, he thinks.

~

Victory has very nice hair, Thenvunin notes, when Kel is about three months old. They’re at a quiet dinner when it occurs to him, as Victory grins unabashedly at his daughter, napping in her little carrier seat.

Victory has very nice hair, of the same sort that Thenvunin’s daughter has. Which is a very different sort from the kind Thenvunin has, because Thenvunin’s hair sometimes likes to wave, but it isn’t thick and curly and it doesn’t have the same texture. Online tutorials have been helpful, but Thenvunin is determined that every aspect of his daughter is going to be as healthy and looked-after as can be.

Fortunately, Victory is not at all reluctant to offer some advice.

Which is how Thenvunin and Victory end up in the apartment bathroom one Saturday morning, giving Kel a bath and hair wash.

“Get good products from Rivain, if you can,” Victory tells him. “I know some in particular, I can check and see if they’re good for babies, or if the seller makes baby versions. And detangle her hair while the conditioner is still in it, and  _then_  rinse it out. Don’t do it the other way around, or else you’re more likely to damage her hair.”

Thenvunin nods in agreement, as Kel kicks up some splashes, and chews on the special washrag that Thenvunin got her especially for chewing on, after the first time she almost put soap in her mouth and he panicked.

“Is there a good way to tie it, when it starts getting longer? To help prevent damage?” Thenvunin wonders.

Victory frowns, a little.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “I’ve never really looked after baby hair before. I got most of my information from friends and books, and I wasn’t really looking for infant care things. But we can find out! There are forums about it!”

That’s fair enough, he supposes.

But after a few minutes more of quiet bath time, he’s starting to suspect that Victory just agreed to come over so he could play with the baby. There’s nothing really wrong with their current routine, it seems. Though he appreciates  _knowing_  that better than he did before. Thenvunin cups his hands protectively over Kel’s eyes while Victory rinses – just in case – and then he lets his friend towel her off, cooing and breaking into an impromptu game of peek-a-boo.

“Do you think you and Aelynthi will join the parenting club any time soon?” he wonders.

Victory’s expression falters, just the tiniest bit.

“We’ve been thinking about it,” he says, letting Kel curl a fist around one of his fingers. “But… we’re focusing on our careers, for now.”

Thenvunin can read between the lines, a little, to where Victory’s job still is what it is, and Aelynthi’s probably reluctant to have a child when he might give that child the same anxiety  _he_  grew up with. Always waiting for the wrong phone call, always missing someone. Not that it was a bad life, Thenvunin thinks, but there’s no rush on things, either.

“Can I dress her?” Victory asks.

Thenvunin leans over, and presses a kiss to his baby’s head.

“I don’t see why not, bro,” he agrees.

Victory grins.

~

Uthvir is halfway through typing up a business e-mail when Thenvunin comes into the study and starts talking about Virevas’ preschool applications.

“In a minute, babe,” they request, frowning at their screen. It’s always a challenge to try and figure out how to tell a client that they’re a flaming idiot without actually causing offense. They tap out a few inflammatory sentences before carefully deleting them, and weighing precisely how bad the potential screw-ups are here. Would losing the client be worse than continuing to endure them?

Hmm.

Maybe they should just bow out and pretend it’s for unrelated reasons.

Then again, the last time they tried to do that, this same client offered to double their pay. Which is why they are where they are, now.

Would quadrupled pay be worth this number of headaches?

They’re still considering the matter when the desk shifts, just a little. It’s a sturdy model that seems to be about as old as the house, but it still wobbles ever-so-slightly as Thenvunin slides his butt onto it, and perches against the side. Pulling a book up from the shelf next to him. Uthvir glances at him, but he actually does seem to be finding himself a distraction while he waits for their business to conclude.

They look back at the e-mail.

Somehow, future prospects just seem a little bit brighter when there’s a gorgeous man lounging in their peripheral vision.

They moderate their tone, cut to the point, but then blunt some of the edges of it with a few effusive compliments and reassurances. Bullshitting their way across a few topics, but not ones that are liable to come back badly on them if it all goes south for their client. A careful proofread, and the message is away; and they pretend, for a moment, to still be focused on the screen, as they sliiiide their left hand away from the keyboard and up onto Thenvunin’s knee.

Waiting until he shifts, just a bit, before they glance up at him from under their lashes.

“There,” they say. “Now you have my attention.”

Thenvunin clears his throat, as they brush their thumb back and forth across his denim-clad leg.

“Virevas’ acceptance letter came back, but I was thinking we might just keep her out of preschool. Since I’m tutoring Eda anyway, and it’s not like she doesn’t have access to a peer social group, or won’t… won’t, ah. Um. Still be going to kindergarten,” he says, as Uthvir slides their hand up his thigh.

They tap a nail against it.

“I thought you might suggest that,” they admit. “If that’s what you want, I have no objections.”

Thenvunin swallows.

“The girls also – um. The girls have gone out with Melarue,” he explains.

Uthvir’s grin widens.

Ah.

So that’s not the  _only_  thing he was after.

They move their computer off of their desk, carefully, before things go any further.

It wouldn’t do to break it, after all.

~

Virevas peers up at the picture in the second floor study.

The one on the wall.

It’s a picture she’s seen plenty of times before. She’s probably spent more time, total, in this house than she has at the apartment, or the lake house. So even though the second floor study is a  _little_  out of the way, it’s also not. It’s a good place to go for hide-and-seek, and she’s explored most of the house’s rooms long ago anyway.

She knows this picture. She knows it’s of her grandmamae, standing next to Grand Melarue, back when they were friends.

Grandmamae was pretty, she decides. Pretty like Grand Melarue, with her long, dark hair, and her gold lipstick, and the shimmery skirts of the beautiful green dress she’s wearing. They look like they could be related, in the way that people who are related tend to. Which is funny, because Virevas knows that they weren’t actually related at all.

Virevas looks like her Papae. But she also looks a bit like Eda – and that’s funny all over again, because even though Eda’s her sister, she knows they don’t share  _genes._  Virevas has genes in common with Kel, but not with Eda; but Eda’s the one people don’t even blink twice at when she goes ‘this is my sister’. Eda’s the one where people exclaim ‘oh you girls look so alike!’, even though it’s not what they think.

She wonders if Grandmamae Mirena would have liked her. Grand Melarue likes her.  _Most_ people like her, especially if they have good taste, and Grandmamae looks like she has good taste. She made a lot of clothes, that Papae keeps in special storage, or else in his closet. She made his and Nanae’s wedding outfits, too, and those are some of Virevas  _favourite_ outfits. Her parents look like royalty in their wedding photos.

Virevas looks at the picture for a moment longer, before going and getting her phone from where she left it on the bookshelf yesterday, and heading back downstairs again.

Maybe she’ll ask Papae what he thinks.

~

Felasel is staring at them again.

Uthvir pauses in the midst of making afternoon snacks, glancing to the side as the quieter of Dirthamen and Selene’s twins slides out of his chair, and comes and sits a few feet away from them. Settling onto the kitchen floor, and staring intently.

Uthvir checks to make sure he’s not liable to get stepped on by accident, and then goes back to slicing up vegetables for dip. Darevas and Kel are still busy colouring, going through the massive pack of magic markers that Thenvunin brought home yesterday, after a particularly trying time at work. So far Uthvir has counter five shades of each colour in rather dubious degrees of variation; but the kids love it.

They glance over again, and notice that Felasel is holding a piece of paper in his hands.

Oh.

They wipe their fingers clean on a dish towel, and then turn, and crouch down towards him.

“Hey, kiddo,” they say. “Did you finish your drawing?”

Felasel looks slightly left of them, and nods.

“Can I see?”

Again, Felasel nods – not in the mood for talking, but that’s not uncommon for him – and then hands the page over.

Uthvir raises an eyebrow at it, but they’ve seen Felasel’s drawings before. He’s got a good imagination. More than that, they think he’s got very good memory retention for his dreams. Today’s offering is a figure with long, clawed hands, and wings that look like they’re made out of spindly bits of something – twigs? – and a liberal amount of black marker used for overall ambiance.

“That’s a scary looking one,” Uthvir notes.

Felasel shakes his head.

“No?”

Another head shake.

“Well, if you say so. You want me to put it in a special sleeve so you can take it home safely?” they offer.

Felasel shakes his head a third time, and then points at Uthvir.

“It’s for me?” they check.

A nod, at last.

They reach forward and gently ruffle his hair.

“Thank you very much, then. I like it,” they say, and that, at last, earns them a smile. “Now go back to the table, it’s almost snack time.”

Felasel dutifully gets up, and heads back over to his brother and Kel. Uthvir turns the drawing over in their hands, looking at it from a few different angles again, before they shrug and pull out a fresh fridge magnet – since they’re over here anyway – and put it up alongside some of Kel’s drawings.

Then they get back to food prep.

~

There’s a girl in Kel’s chemistry and physics class.

She’s Vashoth, like Ash. Except her horns aren’t all shiny and shaped; they’re broken off and filed down, so that they look more like two dark discs in the midst of all her hair.

She has  _a lot_  of hair. More than Olwyn does, and all of it frizzy. Whenever there’s a lot of static electricity, it gravitates towards her locks, and makes them sway up towards the ceiling. Kel counts the strands, sometimes, when her eyes wander away from the front of the room.

The teacher addresses her as  _Ciara,_  which Kel is pretty sure is a human name. It sounds exotic either way, though. She notices that the girl wrinkles her nose sometimes when she hears it, though, like she isn’t particularly fond of the sound. There are freckles on her nose. Just faint ones, barely noticeable; but when the sun gets particularly strong and the air starts to really swelter in the early autumn months, her skin bursts out in them. Vivid splotches of colour that explode across her forearms and face and shoulders, the way they do on Aunt Ana and Olwyn when they don’t mind their sunscreen.

Kel thinks to herself that she should go up and say ‘hi’. That she should maybe ask if there’s another name that the girl would prefer to be called by. But for some reason, every time class ends, it feels like someone’s tied her ankles together. Like her tongue has suddenly twisted itself into knots, and anything she tried to say would just come out wrong.

One time she knocks a pencil off of the lab table.

Ciara picks it up, and puts it back down next to her notebook.

“Here,” she says.

“Nice,” Kel replies, for some  _unfathomable reason,_  and then feels like she should probably go crawl under a rock somewhere and die.

Thank goodness, she thinks,  _thank goodness_ not a single one of her cousins is in this class, because as far as most of her fellow science students are concerned, Kel is just awkward. But her cousins have had a lifetime of experience to prove that she’s actually capable of forming coherent sentences, and they would  _know._

…She’s not entirely sure why that would be a bad thing, but for some reason it seems absolutely paramount, in her fifteen-year-old mind, that absolutely no one know that she’s got a crush. A real, honest-to-goodness, in-person crush, not just some distant admiration for a pretty celebrity or passing stranger.

Not that she actually  _knows_  Ciara.

That would require talking to her, and Kel manages to get halfway through the year without crossing that particular bridge.

Which is  _horrible,_  and it seems really, really unfair that it should feel so horrible when she’s also still pretty sure that it’s maybe the best way to keep anyone from finding out about the crush thing, except, well, it’s a  _crush_  so it probably makes sense that she kind of wants to not just be an invisible blob who sits two rows over from Ciara in class.

Kel gives the matter a lot of thought, before finally venturing a question on the subject to her nanae.

“When you met Papae the first time, what did you do?” she asks, one evening, as she helps with dishes.

Nanae hesitates for just half a second.

“I took him to the movies,”

“Yeah, but like… weren’t you nervous?” she wonders.

They glance over at her, and finish closing up the dishwasher.

“A little,” they allow. “I was much older than you by then, though. And different people tend to be nervous of different things.”

She nods. Yeah, that makes sense. Nanae and Papae met in university, after all; they were adults. The two of them probably already knew exactly what they were doing by then.

“Is there someone you like at school?” Nanae asks her.

Kel shakes her head, automatically; and then feels bad for lying, and tries to turn it into a shrug. Somehow she ends up just sort of vibrating in place for a few minutes, and then blurting out an excuse about homework and bolting for her room.

Smooth.

Nanae doesn’t come after her, though, or ask her any questions about it. Or tell Papae. When Kel ventures out of her room again and hour later, after playing some video games, they just ask if she wants to come and watch movies, and then brush a hand across her short, dyed green hair and kiss her forehead. And that’s it.

Which, on the one hand, is a relief for the evening. But the next day she still fails to even get out of her seat before Ciara is already gone from the classroom, and she’s starting to feel like she’s being creepy and weird and too hesitant.  Like she stares too much, and it’s obvious. Or like keeping quiet about her interest is… well.

It’s not what people do in the movies, anyway. Not unless they’re the kind of characters who tend to creep her out, more often than not.

She debates on it in her head for a long while, and she sees Ciara in the hall and for half a second she thinks she’s going to go right up to her… but Ciara is walking, fast, not talking to anyone, and the moment slips by like sand through her fingers.

“I’m the  _worst,”_  she tells Olwyn, when they head off to their library study group, instead.

Olwyn clucks her tongue.

“No you’re not,” she says. “Even Mister Lansinal isn’t the worst, and he gave me another hour’s worth of homework that’s due  _tomorrow.”_

Kel winces.

“Why did someone who hates students so much become a teacher?” she wonders.

Olwyn gets a contemplative look on her face, even though the question was rhetorical.

“Aunt Selene went off on that a couple of weeks ago, actually. She says he’s a small man who likes having power over people and children are easy targets. I think she’s been trying to get him fired.” Even saying so, though, Olwyn sighs. “I don’t want him to get  _fired_  because of me, though. I just wish he’d stop giving out so much homework. Or make it more interesting, if he’s going to. I feel like I just keep looking stuff up in textbook margins until I go cross-eyed every time I do something for his class.”

Kel can sympathize. She had him last year.

Her cousin blinks, and then backtracks.

“Anyway, that’s off topic. You’re not horrible. Who told you you’re horrible?” she asks. Kel almost regrets that she didn’t completely lose track of the conversation, but then again, she really… does want to talk about it?

Even though she doesn’t?

Crushes are hard.

With a sigh, she flips open her history notebook.

“I keep staring creepily at this girl in my class,” she admits.

“Why?” Olwyn asks.

She hesitates.

Her friends eyes widen, a little. And then she grins.

_Abort. Abort!_

“She… there’s…” she stumbles, and apparently even  _talking_  about this is enough to ruin her and make her go completely tongue-tied. This is so embarrassing. How is this so embarrassing? People get crushes. It’s as normal as  _not_  getting crushes. Ileth gets crushes all the time, it’s like his new favourite hobby. Isabela gets less but she usually can’t stop talking about them when she does – making lewd jokes and then snickering at them, pointing people out in crowds and going ‘there, that one!’ or ‘no, I’d never, not him’.

Olwyn leans forward, still grinning, and drops her voice to a whisper.

“Which girl?” she asks.

“…Ciara…” Kel manages, weakly.

“Ciara… um… I don’t think I know who that is,” her cousin admits.

“She’s Vashoth. With lots of frizzy hair, and shorn horns?” she describes.

The light goes off.

“Oh! I’ve seen her!” Olwyn confirms. “I don’t have any classes with her, though. But I’ve seen her around. She’s very pretty. I like her nose, it looks like the kind you see on old Antivan statuary.”

“It does!” Kel agrees. “I never thought of that, but it does! She looks like she should be in films from fifty years ago.  Except they’d probably try and make her hair go straight and ruin it. Do you know, it gets all frizzed out whenever we do labs with electricity? It just goes straight up, like one strand at a time, and sometimes it makes me think of Papae’s old stories about how the sky would call to elves. Except she’s not an elf, obviously, and it’s just static.”

And that’s not even  _mentioning_  the freckles, but Olwyn’s grinning at her, so she thinks she should stop.

“I don’t think you’re being creepy,” Olwyn assures her, though. “I think it’s cute.”

Kel clears her throat, and then shrugs.

“I know I should probably talk to her, but every time I try I freeze up,” she admits.

She can almost  _see_  her cousin switching gears, as her expression softens away from giddiness into sympathy, and she scooches her chair a little closer.

“Well, I mean. She’s probably going to be in your class the whole year,” Olwyn reasons. “You can work up to it, if you really want to do it. But I think it’s fine if you’re not ready, too. I mean nobody says you actually have to just go and talk to your crush as soon as you get one. Ileth would never stop introducing himself to people if that happened.”

She chuckles, at that.

“Do you want me to ask her out for you?” Olwyn offers, with just a trace of mischief coming back into her voice. But not the bad kind. Kel thinks she’s probably just amused by how flustered she’s getting.

It doesn’t really happen very often.

For half a second she’s tempted to take up the offer. But if she can’t even get through  _approaching_  Ciara, then she’s probably not going to make it through anything they’d actually do on a date – sitting in dead silence in a movie theater or at a restaurant just seems like it would be a bad way to win someone over.

“Thanks, but I think I should probably do it myself,” she reasons. “If I ever  _can_  do it myself.”

Olwyn nods, as if she mostly expected that answer.

“Well if you want me around when you talk to her, just let me know.”

Kel lets out a breath, and agrees. And then Maibrit and the rest of their study group start to turn up, and the conversation changes course; because it’s not like she’s really keen on letting  _everyone but_  Ciara know that she likes her.

That seems like it would be rude somehow, too.

Talking to Olwyn helps, though. Olwyn’s always willing to listen to her wax poetic on freckles and eyelashes. Thighs might also come up a bit, because Ciara definitely has them, and they are thick and soft and sometimes she wears very short shorts, and Kel doesn’t  _stare_ because her parents didn’t raise her in a barn, but she definitely notices.

And approves.

Because the weather is hot.

And thigh freckles are a thing.

When winter’s just starting to kick in, people start making plans for Wintersend’s prom, though. And start asking one another out. And Kel thinks about sitting quietly while someone else asks Ciara and her heart speeds up, and it’s just – she’s not being reasonable, she knows. Her tongue works  _fine._  She’s entirely capable of forming coherent sentences. She’s had this crush  _forever_  now and it’s not going away, and what if it’s, like, true love or something?

What if she’s messing it all up?

What if she  _never tries?_

She thinks of all the things she’s ever been nervous of doing and all the adults in her life who reminded her that it was okay to fail, that she should just give it her best shot; and then, finally, she gets up after class is done, and goes over to Ciara before she leaves.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m Kel.”

The other girl looks at her oddly.

“I know,” she tells her, and um. Right. They’ve been in class together. The teacher takes roll call, and she usually makes it a point to let people know they can shorten her name.

A nervous chuckle escapes her.

“Yeah. Um. So, I was just – I was wondering if maybe you’d like to hang out. Sometime,” she says.

The odd look persists. Ciara gives her a once-over.

“I don’t think so,” she says.

Kel’s heart  _plummets._

Her face feels hot, and her mouth goes totally dry.

“Oh. Okay then,” she says. “Thanks. Um. Thanks anyway?”

Ciara raises an eyebrow, and doesn’t say anything more before she turns, and walks out of the classroom door.

One of the other students lets out a low imitation of the crash-and-burn sound, and Kel wants to sink through the floor. Wants to go find another planet to live on. Why did she do that in front of  _witnesses?_  Why did she do it so  _badly?_

Why did Ciara say no?

She swallows, and glances down at herself – at her orange tank and brown shorts and snakeskin footwraps, not really ‘well coordinated’, she knows, but she doesn’t she  _looks_  bad – and then she swallows past her sandpaper throat, and hefts her bag a little higher up on her shoulder, and keeps her head down as she makes her way out of the class.

She manages to get through her next one. And her next. Her friends notice she’s quiet in lunch, but she waves it off.

She holds out all the way until her Papae comes to get her.

“How was your day?” he asks, as she throws her bag in back, and then climbs into the passenger seat.

Kel bites her lip, and her eyes sting.

“Da’vhenan?” Papae asks, frowning.

“Can we just go home?” she asks him, turning her head aside and trying to keep her breaths even. This is an awful feeling, she decides. This is – it’s just like a shame and embarrassment cocktail got poured directly into her chest, sinking down with the inescapable feeing of rejection, and she doesn’t get  _why_  but she’s also not sure of  _why not,_  and hot tears leak out of the sides of her eyes as Papae radiates worry.

But he drives, too.

He’s quiet all the way home, and then he turns in his seat.

“What happened?” he asks her.

“Nothing really bad,” she assures him.

“You’re  _crying,_ ” he insists. “Kelvallastheneras, what happened at school today?”

She shakes her head. But her papae stays sitting in the car, and even though she knows she could just get out and walk to the house herself, she doesn’t. It just feels so  _awful._

“There’s a girl I like in one of my classes and I asked if she wanted to hang out with me and she said  _no,”_  she finally blurts, her face crumpling. “And I’ve liked her all year, Papae, and I couldn’t figure out how to talk to her, and then I finally managed to do it – and, and she just said no.”

It sounds so small, coming out in words. Like she’s a little kid, crying in the playground because someone doesn’t want to play on the monkeybars with her. But it  _feels_  horrible, and she can’t escape that; and Papae seems to get it, as he tuts and leans awkward across the car to hug her.

“Oh, da’vhenan,” he says. “I’m so sorry. It takes so much to go and ask someone you like out. I can’t imagine why she said no.”

“She doesn’t like me,” Kel surmises, clutching him.

“She mustn’t have very good taste, then,” her father tuts. And then he lets out a big, long sigh, and brushes a hand across her shoulders. “I want to say that she must be awful and not worth your time, but I don’t suppose that’s fair. Maybe she just wouldn’t have said yes to  _anyone_ , sweetheart.  Fifteen is a little young to be dating anyway. Maybe her parents told her she had to wait until she’s older. Lots of parents do.” There’s a brief pause, and then another sigh that tells her that  _he_  almost did.

Nanae talked him out of it, probably.

Kel’s not sure if she’s glad for that or not right now.

“I feel awful,” she says.

“I know,” he tells her, more quietly. Tone dropping towards a rare degree of soft seriousness. “I know, my child, it’s a horrible feeling. But it will be alright. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s always at its worst when its fresh, but it will go away. We’ll help chase it off.”

Bit by bit, the burning in her eyes starts to ease. The knots in her chest start to unclench, just a little.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

Papae hushes her.

“I’ve cried over far less,” he reminds her, dryly; and her lips twitch.

For the first time since morning, she manages a smile.

 


	61. Flicker

People think, sometimes, that Olwyn’s magic is weak. Because she never uses it, because her flames never look as explosive as Ash or Aunt Selene’s fire. And for a while, Olwyn thinks it too. When she goes to lessons, and Ash bounces bright blue flames in giant handfuls, and Selene’s purple fire flickers at the corners of her vision.

She wonders if because she’s spent so many years forcing the magic down, she’s stunted her own growth. If you don’t work muscles, they never grow. Perhaps she’s ruined herself for magic, just like her parents would have wanted.

“No worries, kiddo,” Nabae Uthvir says once, during an afterschool magic lesson, when Aunt Selene is away with Uncle Dirthamen. It’s as if they can read her thoughts. “You’ve just been working different muscles.”

It takes her a while longer after that, to realize it’s true.

Olwyn’s strength lies in her control. Her flames are hers, and she can twist them however she wishes, turn them into fantastical shapes while others throw fireballs. People with explosive flames burn out quickly. Olwyn’s fire is a steady burn that she can heat or snuff out whenever she wishes.

She remembers coming upon this revelation one day when she and Ash are playing. Throwing around shapes, as Olwyn teaches Ash how to weave magic through them and make the flame winged butterflies dance. Ash delightfully makes them larger, blue flames overpowering Olwyn’s orange and yellow, the shapes getting bigger and bigger.

“If you can’t control the smaller shapes, you’re going to make the big ones too strong,” Olwyn glances around the room uneasily.

But Ash continues to stare up at them—she’s excited, having too much fun throwing them around to hear Olwyn’s words—and then her expression falls. “Ollie—”

The flames get hotter, and they lick at the walls. “I can’t—”

Olwyn grabs the flames with her own and snuffs them out one by one, like blowing on a candle. It happens so quickly the fire alarm doesn’t go off for another ten seconds. Ash is staring at her in horror, and Olwyn just shakes her head with a smile, “It’s alright. I’ve got it. I won’t let them get too big.”

And she realizes it’s true. No matter how big Ash’s flames get, Olwyn will always be able to keep them from hurting anyone.

Perhaps her magic is not meant for battlefields, but if it can help give Ash peace of mind, then it is good enough.

She creates a pair of fish, that burn so brightly and move so agilely through the air that they look real, each scale perfectly formed, tail-fins fluttering as they swim through the living room likes it’s their own private aquarium. She creates anything she can, morphing her flames, making them as hot as she needs, or so cool that they feel like a steady warmth, that people can touch without fear of being burned.

She learns how to make a flame as long and thin as a needle. She learns how to make it as malleable and slippery as an eel, and as bright and eye-catching as a star.

Aunt Selene praises her on her control, and teaches her how to heal. Healing takes the most control of all. Healers have to learn how to morph their magic so that it can cut a single layer of tissue without harming something underneath, to flush out a blocked system with enough precision it doesn’t stress the patient’s body, to do so many things that can’t be done with powerful magic alone.

Her flames do not erupt into the world, they come into it with a whisper, and a will.

She likes them. It takes her a long while to love her magic, but when she does…she thinks it’s perfect.

Olwyn’s magic is just like her, and that is how it should be.


	62. Sexy Librarian Adannar

Serahlin’s house is beautiful. Her and her husband are in agreement that having a beautiful, cohesive home is important for family harmony and peace. 

There are several rooms in the three story row house, plus a wonderful basement that the boys have essentially taken over. The main floor is mostly open, consisting of two front rooms, a dining room, a kitchen, and then a powder room, and a small mudroom off the kitchen. The second floor consists of a bathroom, the children’s rooms, while the top floor is an entire master suite, complete with Serahlin’s dream walk-in closet. 

The second front room is used as a study slash library slash office space, mainly utilized by Serahlin. It is a neatly organized space, color-coded and kept bright and beautiful despite a lot of the darkness she confronts in her cases. Child advocacy is not easy and it is often unpleasant, showing the darkest side of what people had to offer. But despite that, she loves her work, she loves that she knows she is helping people who truly need it.

But it isn’t all darkness and honestly, when she wins cases it’s like she’s putting a little bit of light into that darkness - brightening it up. She is in a cheerful mood when she comes home late on Friday afternoon. Her hair has already been let down in the car, freed to flow as she danced at a red light to Beyonce. 

Her house is beautiful and bright and she’s looking forward to seeing her babies (even if they’re not so baby-ish anymore) when the door opens and a fifteen-year-old Ileth suddenly skips out of the house. 

“Baby, where are you going? You haven’t even had dinner yet.” She touches his arm and he gives her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Ir abelas, Memae, but Darevas and Felasel got three tickets to The Nasty Beats. Papae said I could go.” 

“Oh, okay, have fun, baby. Text me where you are and when you get there.”

“Will do, lath ma.”

She kisses his cheek and watches him as he quickly crosses the street over to Selene and Dirthamen’s house. She sighs as he enters the house without so much a care. They grow up so fast, too fast almost. 

Then she remembers she has a five year old that is still into giant hugs and cuddles. She walks into the house, expecting to hear Tonlen practicing his singing and to have Asarla run downstairs to throw her arms around Serahlin. 

The house is quiet. 

She makes her way through the main rooms of the first floor, calling for her son and daughter - nothing. Serahlin frowns and makes her way into her study to set her things down before continuing her hunt.

She opens the door to the office and stops in her tracks.

“Adannar?” 

Her husband is sitting on the edge of her desk, his shirt barely buttoned up, cuffs folded up to his elbows, He’s wearing his big rimmed blue glasses, his brow furrowed as he reads a book on….antique jewelry making methods. 

There are lines on his face, his veins stand out a bit more on his fingers and hands, little white hairs beginning to lighten his hair - and he is beautiful. Disheveled and older but so intensely gorgeous and ridiculously sexy sitting like that. Her husband, father of her children, successful business man and artist, who even after all these years still thrills her. 

But her babies, where are her babies?

He blinks up from his book and smiles when he sees her. He hops off the desk and moves to her, “Sweetheart, you’re home.” He kisses her cheek then moves to her lips without skipping a beat. The kiss is decidedly  _not_  the usual meet and greet she gets when she comes home, leading her to believe that her babies are not in fact here. 

“Mmm,” he hums as she pulls away.

“Where are the children, vhenan?”

He grins broadly, wrapping his hands around her, “Asarla is having a sleepover at Virevas’s, Melarue stopped by and took Tonlen for adoptive Grandnanae bonding time, and Ileth went to a concert with Darevas and Felasel. We have the house to ourselves.” He waggles his eyebrows and sets to kissing her neck.

Oh. She isn’t seeing her babies tonight. 

She kisses his cheek back but it lacks his heat. But Adannar seems a little distracted as he continues to press small kisses to her jaw, neck, and even ear. 

“Let’s have another baby,” he murmurs and she freezes. Well,  _that_  wasn’t what she was expecting to hear. 

She leans away from him, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“What?” 

His grin widens, “Yeah, let’s do it. You’re a wonderful mother and I love being a father and they’ll be close to Asarla -

“I’m forty-one, and the doctor already said that after Asarla’s birth that it would be inadvisable to get pregnant again.” She whispers, hearing the doctor talk about more…permanent birth control solutions when she hadn’t even prompted it. The doctor she had hired had been out and she had been subjected to some idiot replacement for Asarla’s birth - a snide man who said things like “geriatric birth” when she was only thirty-six and remarkably healthy. But the statistics and information was accurate, even it was delivered tactlessly.

But Adannar shrugs, “We can adopt, there are lots of babies that need love.” 

“I know….”

“And it’s not like they won’t have a wonderful support system. Kel, Olwyn, the twins, Lasair, Isabela - all adopted, all potential cousins who would understand.” He kisses the tip of her ear and she sighs. 

“I need to think about it, our life is full as it is with our current children and our work and….” they have much, this is true. Their family or clan or whatever the title is, is huge and full of children as it is, and yet…

There are children who need so much and really…they have so much, and she is healthy and Adannar is healthy and her children have been such a gift….

Oh Creators, they’re going to adopt aren’t they?


	63. Head Up, Eyes Forward

_“Keep your head down. Never meet their eyes. Make them think you are not worth noticing. That is how we survive, little one. It is the only way.”_

Those words have been ingrained in Cirimeni’s mind since before she can remember. It is how she has survived this long, living in Minrathous. How her family has lived their lives for generations.  _Keep your head down. Do not make eye contact. Make sure no one pays you more attention than necessary._

Elves that attract attention in Minrathous do not last long.

The last time her family attracted attention was when her uncle began to get into politics. She was very little, and it is nothing more than hazy memories of brightly colored clothing and balloons. A neighborhood meal and rally, to listen to the supporters of a new elvhen-rights law have their say.

She does not remember what happened, only the stories. Of taking a drink from a stranger—but it was such a large gathering, how was she to know who was friend and who was foe? A drink that likely tasted funny—they tell her that she told her father that the drink had ‘tingled’ before she’d begun to vomit blood.

Five different types of cleaning fluid had been mixed in that punch. Somehow diluted enough that they’d managed to make her vomit it all up. They’d pumped her stomach at the emergency clinic, but they couldn’t afford any of the surgery to repair her damaged vocal chords.

She doesn’t remember a time when she could speak, but they tell her she could before that.

Her family never spoke out again after that, for fear that this time, it wouldn’t be household cleaning supplies in a cup of fruit punch.

It has always been safer, as a non-mage elf in Minrathous, to fade into obscurity.

So she kept her head down, her nose in a book, and pretended she did not exist in the hopes that others would be convinced she didn’t. And it worked, for the most part.

“The Evanuris will come one day,” Her grandmother used to say, as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, wood creaking as she wove baskets with gnarled, crooked fingers. “They are coming. They are simply busy in Arlathan. But they will come. When they do, things will be better here.”

The way that her family and the rest of the elves in the Minrathous ghettos speak of the Evanuris makes her think they must be magical. Like the heroes in the stories her mother reads her at night. Magical not in the way mages are, but magical in the way legends seem, as if they can do anything; elves who are rich, and powerful, and who do not allow humans to do what they want.

Fenris tells her that they should take everything with a grain of salt, that it is dangerous to assume anything about people they’ve never met, especially  _MAGES_  but…but the idea of them gives the elves in Minrathous hope. They lower their gazes and throw away their pride to survive, but at night they speak of what the Evanuris have done in Arlathan, looking over newspaper clippings or huddled around grainy black and white tvs to get the latest information on the elvhen family that has done so much for their people.

Cirimeni and the rest of the elves of Minrathous wait, and wait, and wait, and Cirimeni wonders if perhaps the Evanuris family has forgotten about them. Perhaps Arlathan is all they wanted. Her parents tell her that isn’t true, but Fenris seems to think so.

Cirimeni wants to hope. It’s so difficult to hope, but surely there is nothing wrong with it. Hoping gets her through elementary and high-school. It gets her through her exams and hours upon hours of studying.

Every year, five students across Thedas are given a full ride scholarship to the Evanuris owned University in Fereldan. The selection process is rigorous.But she gets it, this year. This year…Cirimeni will be leaving Minrathous for the first time. 

Hope and hard work have gotten her something, even if Fenris scoffs and tells her that it was the hard work that did it in the end, and nothing to do with the family who owns the school.

Minrathous is an immense city, the biggest city in all of Thedas aside from Arlathan, and no one knows which of the two is bigger at this point. Cirimeni has lived in Minrathous all her life. She’s never been outside of it.

It is frightening as much as it is exciting. It is her first time in the airport, clutching her suitcase and wearing one of the two new outfits her parents had saved up to buy her.

_“You must have new clothes. Professional clothes. You must look nice.”_

Fenris looks around the crowded floor, frowning thoughtfully, wearing his leather jacket even in the middle of the humid summer heat. Cirimeni can’t remember a time he hasn’t worn it, not since he was sixteen and had pointed out the jacket in a second-hand-shop window and all the neighborhood aunties and uncles pooled money together to buy it for him.

Brightly colored patches, rock bands and other logos, are sewn sporadically in places where the fabric has thinned or torn. Cirimeni herself sewed on the patch on the right elbow. A hawk or some kind of bird of prey playing a saxophone—a ridiculous little thing she’d found in the bargain bin of the craft store on 7th Street that was the right size to cover the hole forming there.

It’s stupid, but she loves that little patch. Sometimes, when they’re walking down crowded streets, and Fenris tells her to stick close, she’ll grab onto that patch and let him lead her forward. It’s always easier, when someone else is doing the leading.

She’s glad he’s coming too. She doesn’t know what she’d do if she had to go alone. He’s been her only friend and support for so long, she doesn’t know if she could make it otherwise. For as long as she can remember, Fenris has been there to speak up when she couldn’t, or listen when she needed it. Fenris, who meticulously learned sign language so he could communicate with her, so she didn’t have to write everything out like she did at school. 

She has spent her life looking at the ground, and Fenris has spent it staring straight ahead. 

Fenris grabs her suitcase, and wheels it over to be checked in, giving her space so she can say her goodbyes to her family. They’ve all come, stuffed into her father’s work truck like a pack of sardines. Her mother, and father, and Uncle Aulus, and Aunt Vita, and all her siblings. 

Her mother is crying already, proud tears mixed with the worried ones, and she presses kisses to Cirimeni’s cheeks and whispers warnings and well-wishes before she turns to cry into Uncle Aulus’ shoulder.

Uncle Aulus swallows, and smiles at her. “We are so proud of you. So proud…”

She is the first in the family to go to university. The first to leave Minrathous.

“Keep your head up.” Her father’s voice trembles, as he lifts her chin and looks her dead in the eyes. “Meet their gaze head on. Make them realize you are meant to be there. You have earned this. Be proud of who you are. And be unafraid. Do you understand?”

She nods, throat tight. The corners of her eyes burn. She will not cry. No, if she does, her father and her brothers will begin to cry too, and she can’t have that. But it will be so hard…so hard when she has lived her whole life doing the exact opposite to survive.

How is she supposed to live with her head held high when she’s spent her whole life looking at the ground?

Cato, her eldest brother, hugs her close as her father steps away. Over his shoulder she can see his wife and their two-year-old daughter. Little Nona, who is preoccupied with trying to stuff her mother’s hair in her mouth, and who doesn’t notice the disgruntled looks her family is receiving from the human airport occupants.

She knows her family is large, and loud, and are speaking in the elvish slang of the ghettos that the rest of Tevinter despises. And their ears alone are cause for most to turn up their noses. More than one makes an offhand comment or sighs loudly as they trudge past with their own baggage.

Her brother hears it too, she knows.

“…if you can find a way…don’t come back.” Cato whispers, and she stiffens in his arms. His voice is low, and rough in her ear, “Make something of yourself and escape from this place. Don’t look back. I’ll watch over mother and father and the little ones. If I can I’ll send them to you but don’t…don’t come back here. There is nothing for you here. You know that just as well as I do.”

He pulls back, and steps aside, and she lifts her hand, wanting to tell him that she will come back for him too. That her family is here and she should be as well, but he shakes his head.

“I checked in our tickets,” Fenris pushes through the crowd.

“You still need to go through security,” Aunt Vita looks around, dry-eyed and serious. She is like Cato, Cirimeni knows. She too is likely hoping that Cirimeni goes to Fereldan and never looks back, because Minrathous is no place for a young, non-magical elf. Especially one who can’t even talk.

There is another flurry of kisses and hurried goodbyes, before she turns and follows Fenris toward the line on the other side of the room. He has both his duffel bag and her own thrown over his shoulder, and she reaches out and holds tightly to that small, stupid patch on his elbow as she steps forward.

She thinks of the stack of notecards in her purse, sayings in the trade-tongue written neatly and meticulously in big, bold strokes. She thinks of all the time she spent studying, taking test after test, learning common and taking proficiency exams for a language she’ll never even speak. She can do this…

Cirimeni takes a deep breath and walks through security.


	64. Lemon Tarts and Counterparts

When Laurent is six years old, Vivienne transfers into his class at Montsimmard Elementary.

It was the 7th of Kingsway. He remembers it specifically for two reasons: 1) it is the day he and Vivienne became best friends and 2) it’s the day he and Vivienne spent as the only two kids in the classroom, when all the other parents learned that Vivienne was a mage and came around lunch and took their kids home and “had words” with the principal.

Vivienne sits in her chair in the last empty seat of the room, a few tables away—they are all empty seats now, except for his—and she stares up at the board like she isn’t even a little hurt that all the other kids left.

Laurent thinks she has to be, at least a  _little_  bit. He remembers when he was picked last for tag at recess last week and it had felt  _awful_  and this is so much worse than that.

Laurent raises his hand.

“Yes Laurent?” The teacher asks, moving away from the board. The teacher looks uncomfortable too—though it’s probably because she has to teach only two kids in a classroom, and today is supposed to be science day and they were going to learn about the water cycle.

“Since there are so many empty seats, can Vivienne sit next to me?”

Mrs. Lenoir blinks, taken aback, before she nods slowly. “I suppose that would be fine, if Vivienne would like to sit with you.”

Vivienne turns to him, and her expression is still closed off. Laurent wonders if she doesn’t like him. But she nods and comes over with her bag and sits down. She smells like vanilla; it reminds him of his mother’s cake shop.

“My name is Laurent,” He introduces himself with a giant smile.

“I know,” Vivienne says back, not looking away from the board, “The teacher just said it.”

“Oh,” Laurent squirms a bit in his chair. “Are you excited to learn about the water cycle?”

“I can do magic.” Vivienne turns to him with a frown. “Are you scared?”

Laurent stops for a moment.  _Should_  he be scared? Is it normal to be scared of magic? Well, he supposes that some of the Chantry services say so. But his family doesn’t go to the big church in Montsimmard anymore because his dad said they were “bigots” and Laurent doesn’t know what that word means but it sounds bad. They go to service at the smaller community center on Friday nights now. It’s nice, and Mother Lorelei has a pretty voice when she sings.

“No.” Laurent decides. “I have a great aunt who can do magic. She lives in Salle and I’ve never met her. Her name’s Delaney and she sends me presents every Wintersend. She’s nice.”

Vivienne looks at him the way his dad looks at the tv when the screen goes all fuzzy, like he doesn’t know what is going on and is trying to decide if it’s finally really broken. Laurent hopes Vivienne doesn’t think he’s broken.

But then Vivienne gives a small smile, before she turns back to the board, as Mrs. Lenoir clears her throat and begins explaining the experiment they’ll be doing to produce rain.

—

Laurent loves his mother’s shop. He loves the bright pop of turquoise paint sandwiched between rusty brick, and the flowers his mother meticulously repaints every year to keep the color from fading. He loves the displays in the windows—especially the ones he helps her set up early in the morning before school—and he loves how the smell of vanilla and frosting and fresh cream wafts up from the shop to their house up above it.

Vivienne has to take the bus home, which makes her seem  _very_  grown-up, and since his house is on the way to her bus stop, they walk back together. “We can have one pastry each,” Laurent announces as they get to the shop. “My mom lets me pick one out, as long as it isn’t on the special display.”

Vivienne nods, as Laurent opens the door and the little bell on the top chimes and his mother turns from where she’s helping a customer at the front. She smiles at him and continues boxing up some macaroons. Laurent heads to one of the small tables where customers wait sometimes, when they’ve got a big order, and places his bag on top and sits down. Vivienne does the same, a bit more sedately.

Laurent watches Vivienne look around the shop, her polite, serene expression morphing to the wonder all children feel at sitting in a giant room surrounded by cakes. Sometimes the other kids come with him, but sometimes he wonders if they like him or just like free cake. He’s a bit afraid to find out the answer.

“Well hello there,” His mother walks over a few moments later, smelling of chocolate and cream. Her hands are covered in powdered sugar, like always, and there’s a bit smudged on one cheek; she’s been working in the back with Phillipe today then, which means they must have an order for some of her specialty desserts that Phillipe can’t make. She reaches down and kisses Laurent’s head before turning to Vivienne, “And who are you?”

“My name is Vivienne. My family recently moved here.” Vivienne says politely, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well, my dear,” His mother agrees, “You can call me Madame Lavaud, if you’d like. Are the two of you hungry? Go on and pick out a sweet while I finish cleaning up the front.”

Laurent hops off the seat eagerly, and Vivienne follows behind quietly. “What kind of sweets do you like?” Laurent asks as they look at the trays of pastries behind the glass.

“Lemon,” Vivienne announces, glancing over the counter. She makes an almost disdainful sniff at the sight of some hot cross buns and Laurent makes a note of it. He isn’t too fond of them either, because he doesn’t really like currants.

“My mom makes really nice lemon tarts.”

“…now what was all this business this afternoon?” His mother asks, calling back to them as she wipes down the counter. “I got a call from the principal saying something about some ridiculous commotion at school.”

Laurent pauses, hand outstretched above the lemon tarts. Vivienne freezes beside him, her earlier expectant look morphing into something more guarded as she waits. It’s a look that Laurent thinks she has worn often, and that makes him sad. It’s like she’s waiting for someone to say something mean.

“Something about a mage in class and having to inform all the parents. As if I don’t have an entire shop to run! Why do they think I need to know about a mage student? Lunch is the busiest time of the day. What a bunch of nonsense!” She huffs and nearly slams a pan down before she glances back at the two and seems to remember they are there.

And then she catches a look on Vivienne’s face and her expression softens. “Oh, I see.”  She doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands for a moment, in that way she does when she’s embarrassed, or trying to think of what to say.

Laurent wonders if maybe an explanation will help. “All of the other kids went home. Their parents came and got them.”

Her eyes widen, and her mouth parts, before she purses her lips together and makes her ‘angry face’ before turning to begin scrubbing furiously at the counter. She’s already wiped it clean, but his mother likes to clean things when she’s angry.

She stops after she takes a few deep breaths and turns back to the two. “That is very foolish. Disrupting lessons and work over something so silly.” She puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head, “I am very sorry, Vivienne, that your first day here happened this way. I am sure that the other children will be there tomorrow. Now the two of you, eat up your sweets.”

“I have to go,” Vivienne replies, “I have to take the bus home.”

His mother pauses again, “The bus? All by yourself?”

Vivienne nods slowly. “I know how to ride the bus, Mme Lavaud.”

“I am sure you do,” His mother nods, and his mother always says things like she means them. Sometimes adults say things but you can tell they don’t  _mean_  them. His mother always sounds like she believes him. “You seem to be a very grown up little girl. But it is a new town, and I would feel safer if I could take you home. We could take the bus together, if you would like.”

Vivienne looks down at her feet, and Laurent sees her fidget with her hands, before she looks up and gives a small nod. “Ok.”

“Well, that settles that.” His mother smiles, before she heads toward the door to the kitchen and peeks inside, “Phillipe I am going out for a bit. Watch the store front for me?” She turns toward the children again, “Now, let’s grab some snacks for the road.”

His mother holds his hand in one of her own, and Vivienne’s in the other, and she takes them on the bus, in her apron covered in flour and chocolate and powdered sugar, with a box of lemon tarts packed neatly in her bag.

Every day after that, for as long as Laurent can remember, his mother packs a lemon tart in his lunchbox for Vivienne.

—

“My dear, please tell your mother that I am going to need an entirely new wardrobe if she continues to send me lemon madeleines.”

Laurent snorts, eyeing his friend over the rim of his iced coffee. “If I told my mother you wanted her to stop sending pastries she would assume you were dead. No one dislikes pastries, Viv. It’s a sin. My mother would be appalled.”

“I do not dislike them, I like them far too much,” Vivienne replies, reaching over and absently chilling his cup. It’s hot out, and all the ice has melted by this point. The small café they’ve chosen for their lunch date is busy, but it hadn’t taken much to secure a table for themselves on the patio, which is good, because Laurent doesn’t have too much time before fencing practice.

“If you want her to stop sending them, you have to tell her yourself,” Laurent shakes his head, “I am not getting between my mother and her cakes. It’s a death wish.”

“A smart woman knows better than to throw herself up against a stronger opponent,” Vivienne sighs, tugging a bit on her sunhat so that it tilts more becomingly. “I shall simply have to exert more willpower on myself.”

“Your willpower  _is_  what you’re known for, Madame de Fer.” Laurent teases. The nickname had come around their first year of highschool, and had stuck. She’s worn it like a badge of honor ever since.

Vivienne flashes him a charming smile, one that he’s seen her use more times than he can count, and a smile he’s become rather immune to, “No one can stand up to your mother’s cakes.”

—

“Apply here,” Vivienne slaps a stack of pamphlets and a ‘welcome week’ booklet onto the table beside Laurent’s croissant and slides into the seat opposite him.

Laurent glances over the university name stamped at the top of the booklet, “You want to go to the Evanuris’ university in Fereldan? What about UVR?” Because if Vivienne is telling him to apply to this university, it’s because  _she’s_  planning on going and wants him to tag along. That’s how it’s been ever since they met.

Vivienne shrugs, as if she has not just made an abrupt decision after years of proclaiming she would be attending the famous Orlesian university, “Everyone expects me to go to Val Royeaux, my dear. It’s  _predictable_. And the curriculum here is more competitive. Val Royeaux has dropped in the rankings anyway, especially in terms of their Applied Magic studies. The Chantry has been utterly deplorable in taking out most of the advanced courses.”

That’s a shame. Laurent had a fencing scholarship there. He’ll have to see if Vivienne’s new choice offers one. If they do, he doesn’t think it’ll be hard for him to secure it. He’s consistently been in the top three ranked fencers in Orlais since he was thirteen.

Then again, this is Vivienne. Which means that she’s likely looked into all this and it’ll offer what he needs, or be open to negotiation. Vivienne has always looked out for him, even when she seems at her most selfish.

Laurent leans back in his chair and wonders how the quiet, polite girl from so long ago had become the young woman in front of him. Well, not odd at all, he supposes. Even then she’d given off the air of someone who knew what she wanted and how to get it. Laurent’s first week had been spent being informed by Vivienne that he was her friend, not her savior, and if he thought she needed protecting from some ignorant little bullies, he had another thing coming.

He’d learned rather quickly that Vivienne would be the one doing the leading between the two.

It hadn’t taken Vivienne long to charm her way into the hearts of their teachers and many of their classmates, and to inform the rest that she could care less for how they felt about her.

Which wasn’t true, Laurent knew. It still hurt her feelings when they said cruel things. But appearances are important. Vivienne says it is fine to feel however you want, so long as you never show it on your face.

He has never been as good at that as her.

“You’re wondering if they’re going to have any courses you’re interested in,” Vivienne replies coolly, not looking up from her menu. “Their cultural anthropology degree is well-received, even outside of Thedas. And if you mentioned you wished to apply there I am certain they would offer a scholarship to you.”

Of course. Laurent shakes his head with a smile. He can trust Vivienne to take care of all the details, which is why he’s never worried overmuch when she suggests they do something different. He remembers being twelve, and having the kids in the playground yell, “sheep! Sheep!” at him as he walked with her across the kickball field toward the bleachers.

But he isn’t a sheep. He doesn’t follow mindlessly, letting himself be herded wherever Vivienne wills it. If he said no, Vivienne would understand. He is his own person, with his own interests and passions; tournament after tournament after tournament, and it’s Vivienne who follows then, to his competitions, sitting beside his mother and father, proud and smug and smiling when he brings back a medal.

Vivienne’s personality is bigger than his, he knows that well enough. She shines under the attention given to her by others, thrives in social situations that make him uncomfortable. But he’s never resented her for it, or felt even for a moment that she thought herself better than him.

Laurent shines when his mask is on and his épée is in hand. They both wear armor for different things, to navigate different battles. Laurent knows he’s lucky that he gets to take his armor off, when a match is finished.

Vivienne wears her armor every day.

“You’re thinking about something depressing,” Vivienne drawls, leaning her chin on one artfully manicured hand. “You’ve got that adorable furrow in your brow.”

Laurent sighs, “I heard that the Templar presence at that University is large, even if it is Evanuris run.”

Vivienne lets out a small laugh, perfectly pitched, light and airy and dismissive. “My dear, that’s half the reason I’m going. I must see what all the fuss is about.”

“You mean that’s half the reason you want  _me_  to come.” Laurent shoots back.

Vivienne’s smile widens, “Well, we all know as a mage I can’t sneak in to their meetings and ask them.”

“Sometimes I regret asking Mrs. Lenoir to let you sit beside me.”

There’s a twinkle in her eye, and the corner of her lip twitches like she wants to laugh again. “Only sometimes?”

Laurent remembers afternoon study sessions, sitting in his house above the shop, listening to the customers below and feeling the heat of the ovens through the floor. Vivienne’s neat, precise handwriting on notecards as she quizzes him on chemical formulas for their advanced chemistry test. Vivienne, top of the class, with her meticulous outfits and her sharp charming smiles, sitting at his kitchen table with a pair of large, bottle-cap glasses propped against her nose, one of his mother’s coconut cookies in hand. He grins. “I’m going to tell me mother you’ve been pining for her clafoutis. Expect at least five baked by tomorrow.”

“You don’t play fair.”

Laurent clinks his wine glass against hers in a mock toast. “I’ve learned from the best.”


	65. Lucia

Rissa kind of hates her body.

It’s not the shape that’s the problem, it’s the inside. She remembers the day she was diagnosed. There was a nice doctor and Mamae and Babae were with her throughout. She was given pills and was told to take them every morning. She kind of hates taking pills too, but she has to take them if she wants to be healthy. When Mamae got pregnant again, Rissa was very happy, but also worried that her new sibling would be born with the same defect, but when he wasn’t, she was relieved.

When she was 14, Babae had to rush her to the hospital because her heart was having problems beating.

When she woke up, there was a large bandage around her chest and a cut going down the center of it.

She remembers being very sad after that, often times she was unable to get out of bed and refused to eat some days. She stopped playing the violin everyday because it didn’t make her happy anymore. Tonlen brought her notes, and school work for her to do, which she enjoyed, so she didn’t miss any school.

Her parents set her up for therapy, which helped. She began playing her violin again, but not as much as she used to. She ate and went to school, doing her school work like a good student does, getting straight A+’s and maintaining her perfect GPA because it made her happy to thrive in something.

She still finds it difficult to look at the scar. It’s there, part of her, and as much as she wished it wasn’t, it’s not something she can rid herself of. She avoids seeing it as much as she can, closing her eyes in the bath and when she has to change her clothes. Wearing shirts with collars that sit high, and changing in the girls bathroom for gym class instead of the locker room.

She still has to change even if she’s just going to end up stretching and walking the perimeter of track, while the others run and play sports. Tonlen is with her and it makes it better.

When she’s 16 she works up enough courage to ask out the new transfer student from Nevarra: Lucia Elisavet.

Rissa thinks she’s gorgeous and… way out of her league. It’s not only because she’s pretty. She’s smart, charismatic, kind, and rich.

Some of her classmates are interested in her because of her wealth. Rissa isn’t though. She herself comes from a wealthy family. Uncle Dirthamen is an Evanuris, Uncle Thenvunin, Uncle Aelynthi, Nabae Uthvir, Bibi Glory, and Aunt Serahlin all come from money. Her own fathers are high paying lawyers, and her mother runs a fairly successful business of her own, she even managed to publish her research.

No, money isn’t what drew her to Lucia. It wasn’t her looks either.

Lucia was kind, and accepting of a lot of people. She spoke to nearly everyone and seemed to know everyone, and how they were. People smiled when she said hello, and she smiled back. She even bothered to talk to Rissa frequently.

Quiet, nerdy, shy, intelligent, broken Rissa.

And she’s Rissa’s  _girlfriend_ , now. She keeps turning that over.

_How?_

Part of her thinks Lucia might have just been too good to reject someone, and is only dating Rissa because she felt bad, but another part of her is too stoked to even care and perhaps it’s foolish for her to believe that Lucia might have feelings for her, too.

Tonlen doesn’t think too much of her.

“She’s fine,” Tonlen says. “Just kind of tacky if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” she retorts. Tonlen shoots her a disapproving look, his brows knitted together, and his lips pulled in a thin line. “It shouldn’t matter anyway,” she says, pointing her pen at the equation in her text book. “Focus.”

He rolls his eyes and does as she asked.

~

Lucia is nice. Rissa always makes sure she is presentable when she is around her, borrowing some of Tonlen’s eyeliner sometimes and making sure her outfit looks good. She asks Papae for advice most days, and before dates he would help her select her outfit that best suited the venue they were attending.

Once they decided to go dancing, and Rissa had taken lessons with her Grandpapae as a child. She still remembers the routines, the steps. She puts on her good dancing shoes and her dark blue dress with little twinkling stars along the hem.

It twirls spectacularly.

Papae helps her with some make up and accessories, some clips in her hair and her favorite shoulder bag that looks like the moon.

“You look beautiful,” Papae says. Rissa smiles at her reflection in the mirror, and hopes Lucia likes her like this, too.

The doorbell chimes, and Vara appears in the doorway of her room soon after.

“Your date is here,” he informs her. Papae leaves the room to go greet her, and Vara steps out of the way for him.

Vara looks at her, and fidgets with the hem of his shirt, before stopping and putting his hands behind his back instead, standing up straighter. His mannerisms have always been… odd. Always correcting his behavior on his own. He looks like he wants to say something to her, but he’s having trouble finding the words.

“Do you have something you want to say?” she asks him. Vara sucks in a breath.

“She’s… weird. Ris, I don’t know about her,” he tells her. “I don’t think she’s as nice as she seems.”

Rissa sighs, and stands up so she can go. It’s a little touching, Vara’s concern, but he’s only 10. She gently pats his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” she assures him, before going downstairs to the living room. Lucia is seated on the couch, talking to Babae and Papae. She’s all smiles and she laughs at Babae’s jokes. They are funny, even if Vara doesn’t think so sometimes. She knows he secretly likes them.

Papae reminds Rissa of her curfew before they leave and Lucia promises to be back before then. Her arm goes around Rissa as she leads her into her car.

Rissa takes the passenger seat and fiddles with her nail polish before remembering that picking at it will be bad so she stops. She can see herself in the rear view mirror, and suddenly she feels critical of herself. Maybe she should have gone with a lighter dress. Lucia is in a yellow dress and her shoes have a higher heel to them. Hers are smaller and her hair… maybe she should have left it down, and not up.

“What took you so long?” she asks. She… doesn’t look too happy. Rissa clears her throat.

“I was just talking to my brother,” she replies. It’s true, anyway. She doesn’t understand why Lucia seems displeased. She sighs, turning the key as the engine comes to life.

“You can talk to him anytime. He’s your brother after all,” she drawls. Rissa supposes she’s right.

“I guess,” she says. “I’m sorry.” Lucia clicks her tongue.

“Well, at least you look cute.”

Oh.

At least she has that, but she can’t shake the pit in her stomach, an ugly thing that makes her feel bad anyway.

~

They dance, and Lucia has to take her shoes off because the heels are too high for the dancing they’re doing. It’s not exactly any of the dances Rissa remembers learning. There are a lot of people and a lot of people pushed up against each other. Lucia’s hands rest on her hips and they sway to the music more than really dance.

And it’s very hot in here.

Rissa tires easily so about an hour into the date she has to fight her way out of the dance floor, and loses Lucia for the next two hours after. She tries calling, with no answer. She leaves a text, telling her where she is before her phone dies. Another half hour after that and she finally spots Lucia stepping out of the crowd of people, her hair askew and with another girl. Who’s… hand is a little too low on Lucia’s back, and going lower still.

There is then a tight feeling in Rissa’s chest. A different feeling from what she knows.

She picks at her nail polish then, contemplating about going up to her or not. She seems to be having a nice time with this other girl, but Lucia is supposed to be here with  _her._

They’re dating, aren’t they?

She works up the nerve and makes her way over, making herself known and Lucia turns to her.

“Rissa!” she exclaims, “there you are! Where did you go!” Her tone suggests that she isn’t too pleased.

Rissa loses her nerve, and begins fidgeting with her nail polish again.

“I was waiting for you. I lost you in the crowd, and I texted,” she explains. Lucia sighs and bids the other girl goodbye before taking Rissa’s hand and walking out.

“It’s fine. Look at the time, we should get you home. I promised your father that I would have you home before curfew anyway,” she says. “Maker, it’s so embarrassing… having lost your date in the middle of the night.”

Right, Rissa thinks. It’s probably for the best they go home now.

“I’m sorry,” she tries, but Lucia doesn’t answer her. The drive back home is silent.

~

Mamae is waiting for her when she gets home. Rissa throws off her shoes and she doesn’t feel great.

“Did you have a nice time?” she asks, Rissa just shrugs.

“It was fine,” she says. Mamae hums.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, but Rissa just shakes her head.

“There isn’t really anything to talk about ma'e.” She wants a hot bath and her bed more than anything else.

“Well, I know something that might cheer you up,” she says, and Rissa raises a brow as her mother leads her into the kitchen and opens her laptop that was resting on the counter.

Rissa’s eyes light up as she sees the title on the video playing.

_Star Wars: The Force Awakens Trailer #2_

“They dropped another trailer?!”

“They did! It came out earlier tonight and… just watch!” she says. Rissa settles with her mother as they watch the video a few times over.

When she finally brings her phone to it’s charging station, her inbox is full of texts from Felasel and Maibrit, discussing the trailer and the plot for the movie.

She feels excitement bubbling in her chest as she settles into bed, bad date forgotten and everything.

The movie won’t be out for a few months, and she wants to go to the midnight screening of it with Maibrit and Felasel in costume. Maybe she can visit with her cousins in Ferelden. That would be fun. She makes a mental note to bring it up to her parents.

~

She continues going on dates with Lucia, some of them end really well, and others not so much. Lucia, she learns, is very flirtatious. She talks up the cute vashoth girl at the concession stand when they go to the movies, and another time Rissa thinks she might have left her number for the dwarven waitress to pick up.

Rissa doesn’t like that, and when she brings it up, Lucia tells her she’s overreacting, or she’s just being silly.

“You should trust me,” she says. “You shouldn’t be so jealous, I’m just being friendly.”

Rissa sighs. She supposes it’s true. It’s in her personality and… maybe she is being silly, but she can’t shake the ugly feeling she has in her gut.

“I do trust you,” she retorts weakly. Well, maybe some part of her doesn’t. Lucia’s looks hurt, then. She reaches over and brushes Rissa’s cheek.

“Babe,” she says, and Rissa looks at her, her expression soft and she feels the heat rise in her cheeks. “I’m  _your_  girlfriend. I talk to other girls but I am with you,” she says before kissing her.

Rissa doesn’t know how much time has passed, just that she likes this. Lucia’s hands roam, and they begin unbuttoning her shirt. Rissa realizes too late that her chest is exposed, and Lucia stops what she’s doing as she looks at the scar.

Rissa quickly pulls her shirt closed. She’s mentioned her condition to Lucia before, and she knows about the scar, but this would be her first time actually seeing it.

“Oh,” Lucia says. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Rissa’s shoulders shake a little as she pulls her legs up to her chest. Right. It’s bad, and it’s ugly.

“It’s ugly, I know. I could leave my shirt on, if anything,” she offers, but Lucia sighs.

“No, it’s fine. It  _is_  ugly, and I’m not in the mood anymore,” Lucia says as she turns away.

Right.

Rissa starts to button up her shirt, and leaves as soon as she’s dressed.

~

They never progress any further after that. Lucia keeps her at an arms length and Rissa supposes it’s for the best. Her scar makes everyone uncomfortable, it’s to be expected.

Their dates become less frequent and when they do go on dates, it ends with nothing more than a goodbye peck.

She thinks she should talk about it, but whenever Rissa mentions it, Lucia gets uncomfortable.

Perhaps she’s just that undesirable.

~

After her birthday, Rissa goes to Ferelden. It took a lot of convincing, but after multiple very long phone conversations between her parents and her Aunt Selene, they allowed it.

It’s the first time she feels excited about anything in months. She missed her cousins, and her sister. Watching the new Star Wars with Felasel and Maibrit, spending time with Olwyn and Kel, joking with Darevas, Ileth’s baking, and actually speaking to Isabela, face to face…

She’s looking forward to it.

Aunt Selene picks her up at the airport, as she promised her parents she would. Rissa is glad to see her familiar pale hair, and her hugs feel the same.

They go to the sorority house together, where there are more hugs, and she meets some of the other sisters before Maibrit steals her off to talk dark hole thermodynamics.

They visit the frat house for dinner and Rissa catches up with the others, meeting other members of the frat as well.

Felasel comes into the kitchen at one point dressed as a Jedi, and takes a whole tray of tarts before Ileth has to chase him down to get them back.

She spends some time playing the violin with Nehras. They have been composing original pieces and Rissa thinks they sound beautiful. She admits that she has been neglecting her instrument, but perhaps she can pick it up again to learn some of Nehras’ compositions if they send her sheets.

She helps Ileth with the dishes once everyone has eaten. He washes and she dries.

“So,” he starts. “Tonlen has been telling me things. You’ve found yourself a girlfriend?”

Rissa sighs.

“Yeah,” she says. “Her name is Lucia, she’s from Nevarra. Her family has some connections with the Pentaghast’s. Some ancient marriage treaty or distant cousins of cousins or something. I can’t remember.”

“Ah, we have a Pentaghast at the university,” he tells her. “Her name is Cassandra and she’s… terrifying, but she’s nice too.” Rissa hums. That’s cool. She’s never met a Pentaghast before.

They’re quiet for a while, the sound of the faucet filling the silence, and periodically the clanging of dishes. Miriel laughs at something in the other room and she can hear Isabela making jokes. Kel makes a comment and then there is more laughter.

“What is she like?” he asks her, and it takes a while for her to realize that he’s asking about Lucia.

“Oh.. well, she’s smart. Kind of terrible in the sciences, if you ask me,” she tells him. “And uh… she’s very sociable. She strikes up conversations often, and Babae calls her  _LuLu Lemon.”_  Ileth snorts, and Rissa smiles. “She can be nice, too.”

“She  _can_ be nice?” he echoes. “Is she not nice already?” Rissa scrunches her nose.

“She is nice,” she corrects. “I’m the problem, I think.”

Ileth turns off the faucet and looks at her, his brow raised in question.

“And how are you a problem?” he asks. Rissa shrugs.

“I don’t know, silly things bother me. Like when other girls flirt with her and she flirts back a lot,” she replies. She sighs as Ileth wipes his hands dry on his apron. He places his hand on her shoulder, firm and warm.

“If it bothers you then it bothers you, and she should respect that. You are not the problem, and she should accept you as you are,” he tells her firmly. Rissa looks into Ileth’s eyes, both of them different colors, but they reflect the same amount of determination and affection in them.

“Hey, Ris,” Maibrit calls from the other room. “Get your costume on, we should get going.”

Right. The movie.

She hugs Ileth, and leaves to get changed.

~

The movie was good.

_Really_  good.

Felasel criticizes that it was a plot line too close to the fourth one, and Rissa is inclined to agree, but still. The new characters have her intrigued and she can’t wait for the next one.

When she gets back to Arlathan, she tells Tonlen all about it, without spoilers, and offers to watch it with him when he wants to go, and they schedule a time between both of their hospital appointments.

Her hospital visit goes… badly. Her heart doesn’t sound like it should and she’s going to have to get another surgery. Babae takes her to the shrine in the inner circle of the city on their way back from the hospital and they pray.

Rissa hates surgeries. Even if she isn’t awake form them, waking up disoriented and to the sounds of beeping and whirring machines is never a good feeling. Waking up and knowing something about you has changed, a part of you is missing or a new, foreign part has been added on, she doesn’t like the feeling.

Everything will be okay, she tells herself.

She tells Lucia, she has to. They’re still dating after all, and Rissa thinks it’s important that she should know what’s going to happen to her, and the days they won’t be able to see each other. Maybe she’ll even visit while she’s recovering. Flowers would be nice. Mamae always brings flowers, and Tonlen brings schoolwork so she can keep up.

Rissa really likes Lucia, and Ileth is right.

She should accept her as she is.

“Babe, I don’t know if I can do this,” Lucia says. Rissa’s feels her heart drop into her stomach. “I don’t think I can handle it, Rissa.”

Rissa lets out a bitter laugh.

“I’m getting my chest cut open  _again_ , and you can’t handle it.” Lucia takes Rissa’s hand in hers.

“Don’t you know how hard it is for me? To have to accept the fact that you’re broken? That you have to be fixed?”

_Broken._

Like she doesn’t know that already.

She drowns out whatever Lucia says next, because it’s not important.

Well, whatever.

~

“Where’d LuLu Lemon go?” Babae asks. Rissa shrugs.

“She  _couldn’t handle it,”_  Rissa mocks, and snorts a little as Babae balks at the comment.

“Well, she’s definitely getting her nickname privileges revoked,” he says.

Good, she thinks. That’ll show her.


	66. These Boots Were Made for Kicking

Tonlen’s got the most amazing pair of boots. They’re black lace up leather and have a very modest heel. He loves these boots because even when he’s having a bad day, he can wear them and still feel just about the fiercest thing in the room.

They’re also really good for kicking things. 

Which isn’t too surprising, since he made them after Nabae Uthvir showed him how to do it. Everything that Nabae makes always has this wonderful fashionable violence to it, not like in a bad way, but in that acceptable edgy way that really does mean that the person wearing the boots can and will kick your ass. 

The boots go up to his knee, made perfectly to seamlessly go over tights or leggings or even jeans. Today he’s opted for a practical jean/jegging hybrid that allows for maximal movement and makes his boyfriend’s eyes bug out because of his ass. He has a nice ass, say what you will about his lungs, but Tonlen’s got a booty. 

Today he is wearing these boots, not because he is having a hard day, or because he simply loves his boots, but because they are very good for kicking things. 

Kicking things like pieces of trash to the curb where said trash will rot and disappear into the gutter. 

He doesn’t touch a single hair on her head, he doesn’t need to. Instead, Tonlen goes to Cirina, the yearbook club president, and tells her that Lucia has crabs and that’s why Rissa broke up with her. He goes to Muthreli, president of the decorations committee for the upcoming dance, and tells her that Lucia actively discriminates against disabled persons. He tells Tethenura that Lucia was the one who clogged the toilet in the bathroom three days in a row. He goes to Effil and Lothawren and tells them that Lucia laughs during those ASPCA commercials. He writes in one of the stalls that Lucia has genital herpes on her mouth because she went down on that chick, Wendella, at a neighboring school who was caught banging a teacher. He hands a note over to Reshen saying that Lucia copied all of Rissa’s homework and claimed credit and that she’s not even actually smart. And most importantly, he tells Benelin, senior class president and current talk of the school heartbreak because her long time boyfriend, Trenor, was discovered to be cheating on her with not one, not two, but three other girls at once, that Lucia is a dirty, filthy cheater who mistreats her girlfriends by emotionally gas lighting and body shaming them. Some times the truth is the most powerful ammunition, and he just loaded the gun stock full. 

By the end of the day, the halls are aflutter with the downfall of Lucia Elisavet, spun excellently by his hand, kicked decisively by his boot. A small smirk finds its way to his face and lingers there as Rissa comes out of her last class to hear the subtle gossip and whispers come to a halt. Lucia walks out of her last class and the people shift around to look at her. The air turns and suddenly the people are moving away from Lucia, bright and charismatic Lucia, and shooting Rissa sympathetic glances. 

Someone hits Lucia with their bag ‘accidentally’ and while Tonlen would  _never_  condone violence, he doesn’t really argue with the accident either. He sighs and strolls down the hall that he pretty much considers his, threading his arm through Rissa’s.

“You’re very pretty today,” he tells her and she sighs.

“What did you do?” 

“Me? Absolutely nothing that that fiend didn’t deserve. Also, did you hear Nurse Eva is pregnant!”

She stops and sighs, “Stop trying to distract me! What did you do?!”

He inspects his flawless nails and sighs, “Said a few things to the right people, wrote a thing or two in the bathroom. I made sure everyone knew who she really is.” 

Rissa’s eyes widen in horror, but before she has time to speak, Benelin and her posse suddenly approach. 

“You’re Rissa, right? I’m Benelin and I just wanted you to know that you deserve better than a cheating whore for a girlfriend who doesn’t accept you for who you are. You’re better than her and she just can’t admit it to herself without feeling like complete halla manure and wanting to take it out on other people. So like, if you ever want to hang or shop with us, you totally can. Tonlen has my number, by boo,” and with that Benelin blows Rissa a kiss and sashays down the hall in her dainty designer outfit, posse following in step. 

Tonlen turns back to Rissa, whose face is an uncommon shade of beet red. He winks at her and pats her head.

“No one hurts my cousin,” he says quietly before wrapping her in a gentle hug. 

No one hurts her. Ever. 


	67. Rissa is Perfect

Tasallir is not entirely certain what happened, between Rissa and her girlfriend. 

He is not his middle daughter’s first choice of confidants, and he also is not good at pressing such things. But he can make some inferences. Vena grumbles about Lucia being ‘flighty’, and Ana takes Rissa to the planetarium, just the two of them enjoying the exhibits and going at their own pace of things.

Varawell sagely informs Tasallir that he did not like Lucia.

“She talked down to me,” he says.

“A critical error,” Tasallir agrees, but that is not quite the level of information which he is looking for.

In the end it is Tonlen who avails him. Tonlen does not seem to have the least bit of trouble laying out Lucia’s crimes, on a weekend afternoon when Tasallir picks them both up from school. Serahlin and Adannar are having their ‘date night’, so Asarla is over with Uthvir and Thenvunin, and Tonlen is going to be staying with them until Saturday afternoon.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Tasallir,” he says. “I ruined her. She’ll have to move schools if she wants to salvage her reputation, and even then, there’s always the internet.”

Tasallir reaches over and gently squeezes his nephew’s shoulder in approval.

“Thank you,” he says. “Ana is taking Rissa to the new telescope unveiling at the science center tomorrow. You’re welcome to go along with them, or with Vena and Varawell. They are going to see a matinee. But if you like, I thought we could do something together. Perhaps shopping?”

Tonlen grins. But then his expression falters, just a little.

“You don’t have to pay me back, for Rissa,” he says.

Tasallir smiles.

“I know. I would have done the same for your mother,” he agrees. “That is what family is for. But it has been a while since we did anything together, just you and I.”

That puts things right, it seems. Tonlen’s smile returns, and he agrees easily. Serahlin’s birthday is coming up, so they may as well try and hunt down a suitable gift for her. Tasallir sends his nephew off to go do homework with Rissa, while Varawell practices some moves from his latest dance lessons – swaying around the living room floor. Vena has dutifully assisted by pushing the furniture back, and Ana is busy getting started on dinner.

Tasallir offers his assistance, and then evening settles into the quiet rhythm of chopping and cooking, conversation rising and falling. Skyping with Isabela, and at one point Vena launches a tickle assault on Varawell, and Tasallir is stuck in the middle of the kitchen as their youngest uses his legs to fend off his silly Babae.

“Papae!” he protests. “He messed up my groove!”

Tasallir tsk’s.

“Aww,” Vena relents. “I’m sorry, little buddy bean. I was just having fun.”

“I’m a  _serious_  dancer,” Varawell solemnly informs Vena. Tasallir reaches down, and brushes some of the hair away from his face.

“You are,” he agrees. “But it’s almost time for dinner anyway. Maybe Babae can make himself useful and help you clean up, instead of being  _unruly.”_

Tasallir raises a pointed eyebrow. Vena nods, and winks, and at length Varawell loosens his hold on Tasallir’s pantleg, and allows himself to be respectfully taken aside for a joint hand-washing session. Ana is laughing about something with Rissa as they finish up the desert plates, so Tasallir and Tonlen finish setting out the table, and then it is a late dinner, followed by a family board game, and bed time. For Varawell, anyway. Tasallir has tuck-in duties, as Vena and Ana flirt and pretend they are doing the dishes, and Tonlen and Rissa play with their phones.

He supposes he is feeling particularly domestic this evening. He reads Varawell a story about two figure skaters who happen to fall in love, and kisses his forehead. And he goes so far as to get Rissa and Tonlen settled, too, even though they don’t need it. Kissing their foreheads, too, which earns him smiles from two sleepy teenagers, who sometimes still look very much like babies to him.

He reminds himself that Lucia is the same age as Rissa. That children make mistakes, and that their parents cannot fight all of their battles for them.

‘Broken’ is a term he is familiar with, however. That drifted into his awareness in his teenage years, as puberty came and went, and he found his revulsion with the concept of sex and sexual acts never somehow transformed into interest. When those pieces never began to fit, as the years counted by, and it just… it seemed dangerous. Messy. Unappealing. It took him years to figure out that there was not some vast global conspiracy, trying to make it seem otherwise so that people would be compelled to procreate.

Fortunately, the institute’s mandated sexual education program was a good one. But it did not begin until students were fifteen, and so for several years, Tasallir had believed himself a ‘late bloomer’ – and then had to deal with the realization that he would always be one-step removed from a world that still prioritized or presumed a lot of things about sex and sexuality. He had thought it unlikely that he would ever… have this.

This life that he has now. Love, affection, connection. Abundant devotion and commitment and no presumptions upon his person, no demands that he compromise on his discomfort, beyond the usual needs of  _anyone_  to compromise in a relationship with other people. He remembers how cold he felt, before Serahlin. Before Vena and Ana. Before his family came together, and he realized it was truly a thing that could last.

He slips back into Rissa’s room. Just watches her sleep for a moment, and wonders how he can explain it to her. That they are not broken. That they are given struggles, and sometimes those struggles come from nature, and sometimes, those struggles come from people. From themselves. But his children are beautiful, and good, and he would not change them, even if he  _would_  alleviate their struggles.

Rissa’s chest rises and falls slightly in her sleep.

So does Tonlen’s.

They live, they breathe. Tasallir loves them.

Maybe tomorrow, he will have more chances to make certain they know that.


	68. A Work of Art

Tonlen has scars on his chest, just little things really, especially in comparison to the long sternum scar on Rissa’s chest. No, Tonlen simply has a scars for when he needed chest tubes when he was younger, deep cuts the doctors made because his lungs have a vendetta against the rest of him for some reason.

As a child, he was poked and prodded, pumped full of drugs as the doctors and healers kept his body alive. Therapists came to him to talk about his struggles and how he was feeling. Uncle Thenvunin would hold his hand, sometimes not even talking because he knew and Tonlen was grateful for that. Rissa’d climb into his bed and the three of them would sit in the hospital waiting for the doctor to come back to make sure he was getting all the oxygen he needed. 

His body has never truly felt like his. It’s why he dresses it in bright colors and paints his face absurdly because his body is not his, it’s a work of art by the doctors and healers. Art of life that he tries to do justice. The dresses, the skirts, heels, makeup - it’s all adornment that he can choose for this art, a little art of his own. 

He watches youtube tutorials on how to wing his eyeliner, how to contour. Nabae Uthvir and Uncle Victory help teach him how to make his own clothes Uncle Thenvunin continues to hug him and touch him like he isn’t broken. Because he isn’t. The doctors and the healers turned his body into a work of art that can oxygenate and breathe and he’ll be fine. 

He’s fine. 

The winter before he heads to college he gets double pneumonia and has to spend a week in the hospital because more complications arise from it. But the doctors and healers simply modify their art, they tweak a line here and there, re-shade, adjust the lighting, until it’s good again. Until he’s breathing again. 

His mother worries about sending him off to Ferelden for school. Ferelden is cold. Ferelden is dryer and harsher, what if the climate doesn’t agree with him? Uncle Tasallir agrees with her and tells Rissa she should consider a university closer to home. 

To go easier on her heart.

To be more conducive for his lungs.

Lasair isn’t told these things. She’s asked to stay closer, sure, but it’s not for her health. It’s not because her parents are worried she’ll crumble from the slightest pressure or challenge.

In the end, it’s uncle Thenvunin who steps in and tells Memae and Uncle Tasallir that it’s good for children to learn what they can do. He supports everyone staying closer to home because he loves them, but he shuts all conversation down about the illnesses, about the…dysfunctions of the bodies. 

There are doctors in Ferelden too. Good ones. 

Tonlen hugs his uncle tightly after that, thanking him because he knows and he understands and while he’s dramatic and can be loud, he gets it. 

Tonlen tosses his cap into the air at graduation in a tacky polyester gown that he can’t get out of quickly enough. He wheezes a bit when he gets excited but he knows his limits and he doesn’t do anything to harm the artwork his doctors and healers so carefully crafted.

_I am a work of art_.

_And I am beautiful._

_In this body that was fashioned to live because my soul is strong._

It’s the first thing he gets tattooed on his body, right over the chest tube scars.

He asks about Uncle Victory’s tattoos, traces the ones on his biceps and asks why he got them. If he likes them. 

Two weeks later and Uncle Victory takes Tonlen to his artist and the needle goes into Tonlen’s skin. He can reclaim this art, because it’s also his, not just his doctor’s and healer’s. His body is a work of art and it is his. It’s his body and he’ll decorate it in any way he can because he can, because he is alive. 

Because he’s not just a work of art, but a work in progress. His lines aren’t done, he needs shading, a definite light source - and it’s a step. The needle jabbing into him while he lies on the table is there because he chose it, not because fluid need to be drained out of his chest cavity, not because he can’t breathe properly. 

This is his work of art.


	69. More Snippets

“Alright, for this debate we will be working in groups of two. Groups will be paired against each other, one assigned pro, the other con.” Mrs. Tellenareth says and Asarla quietly shifts over so that she’s eventually sitting next to Virevas. The instructor looks up and she sighs.

“Girls, have you ever contemplated giving the others in the class a fighting chance? For once?” Mrs. Tellenareth says and Asarla grins while Virevas inspects her nails.

“Why?”

~

 

 

Miriel plops down on the couch, folding her legs underneath herself, as she lifts the large slice of pizza into the air and bites at the end. Darevas drops in next to her, making her bounce.

“Aaah,” she says around the pizza, “this is such a bad idea. My ass is gonna get fat.”

“I like your ass fat.”

“Aw babe, thank you.”

 

~

 

Kass stares at the computer screen in front of her, leaning in, squinting, leaning back. Huh. 

“Reading anything interesting?” Melarue asks from their spot in the kitchen. 

“Uuh, if I could read it….dammit,” she laughs nervously and sighs, “guess I’m getting older if the eyes aren’t doing what they’re supposed to do.” She hears them stop for a moment and she looks up to see their face is locked into their ‘I’m feeling something so I’m blanking my face so you don’t know what it is’ expression. But it passes and they move over next to her, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

“You’ll look beautiful in glasses.”

 

~

 

“What about this one?” Ana lifts up the little black and white striped onesie and Serahlin immediately shakes her head.

“Not if you want your baby looking like a felon.”

“Oh don’t say that in front of Vena, he’ll immediately start calling the baby ‘Felon Melon’ or ‘Melon Felon’. It doesn’t help that our doctor keeps a size chart in her office of how big the baby is for each month, so now he’s calling the fetus ‘Mango Bango.’” Ana sets the onesie down and picks up a polka dot one instead. 

“Your husband is very peculiar.”

“Tell me about it.”

“A good father, though.”

“Yeah,” Ana says, sighing and she drapes the onesie against her growing abdomen.

~

 

Ileth is packing his lunch when he sees Felasel enter the kitchen. He grabs a muffin off the tray on the counter and immediately bites into it. He chews, once, twice before his eyes narrow and he turns to Ileth. 

“This is a  _bran_  muffin,” he says accusingly.

“It’s healthy!”

Felasel shakes his head, “Betrayed by own baker.” 

“I’m your cousin and not your baker! I’m more interested in you living a long life than getting your sugar fix!” Ileth fusses.

“You sound like my mother.”

“Well, Aunt Selene is very intelligent, I’m taking that as a compliment.”

 

~

 

“Okay, now if you move your hand like  _this_ ,” Ash moves her hand and the fire shifts into a figure of a bear. Olwyn nods and mimics the movement, making her own fiery bear.

“Cool!” 

“Now if you wiggle your pinky, you can make the bear run!” Ash demonstrates and Olwyn follows. 

The door pushes open and Ash looks up to see Nabae Uthvir.

“What are you two doing?”

“They’re like shadow puppets but with fire because fire is way more awesome,” Ash says and they watch for a moment before nodding.

“Carry on.”

 

~

 

“That Ithiril guy has the world’s tackiest leotards, you’re totally gonna win,” Virevas tells Vara but his face scrunches up in doubt as Asarla adjusts the feathers on his shoulders.

“That’s ridiculous, how are his turns? Lunges? Did he land the triple axle?” He demands.

“Vara! You’re going to be brilliant, you’ve been training for this for a year, you’re going to  _win_ ,” Asarla whispers in his ear and he lets out a long breath.

“Glitter, I need more  glitter.” He says.

Virevas nods and pops open a large tub of the stuff, “On it!”

 

~

 

“You have butt dimples,” Nehras muses. Ileth promptly jumps and turns around, covering his already out of sight behind, leaving his front completely exposed. They hum in appreciation, following the soft contours of his body down, down, to the apex of his thighs. Such an adorable man.

“I do not!”

“You do and they’re adorable,” they argue simply, slowly shifting off the bed to walk over to their boyfriend. He swallows and they follow the movement of his Adam’s apple before swooping in and kissing his neck.

“You…have dimples when you smile,” Ileth says, his voice trembling as their hands roam over his body again, not quite sated even after their earlier activities.

“Your butt dimples are much cuter,” they assure him, hands splaying over the sensitive skin on his belly.

“But not half as beautiful,” he moans and they stop. Beautiful? Not…sexy or sensual? They tilt their head back and look up at him, his enthralling eyes soft as a little smile graces his features.

“You are entirely too adorable,” they tell him and he gently touches their face before bending down and kissing them. There is always a gentleness to him, not a hesitation per se but the soft press of him that steals their breath because of the level of care he takes in everything he does.

And suddenly they are being pressed back towards the bed, becoming very aware of exactly how tall he is. How long his limbs are and how soft his skin is. They fall back onto the bed and he follows, kissing their cheeks and nose and lips and chin in a flurry of light happy kisses that leaves them giggling.

“Ileth!”

“Nehras,” he says back, pressing a kiss more sensual than playful to their neck. A giggle turns into a moan and his hands cup and caress their small breasts. He lowers his mouth to a nipple and sucks and their mouth opens on a gasp as they hook their leg around his back.

Neither of them are getting much sleep tonight apparently.

~

Miriel hates vomiting. It is one of her least favorite things in the entire world. Her stomach rolls, her throat burns, she cries most of the time because of some weird pressure thing her face, and sometimes if she’s really sick, even her nose and airway will burn from the acid being forcefully shoved up a tube it’s not supposed to go.

So when she wakes up on a rainy summer morning and promptly runs into the bathroom and hurls whatever little is in her stomach from dinner last night, she’s horrified. At first.

Darevas is quick to come in and hold her hair, stroking her neck as he whispers little soothing words and comforts to her.

“We shouldn’t have ordered from that place, their chicken always smells a little weird,” he says, quick to blame the food. She nods her head and leans against the cool porcelain of the nearby tub, trying to breathe somewhat more regularly now that the nausea seems to be passing.

“Do you want me to go the store? Get you some ginger ale, maybe some saltines? Soup?” He asks and she gives him a thumbs up.

“Yes to all of it, please, oh and some cough drops, my throat is all burned and gross. Strawberry cream?” Her body feels a little hot and she wonders if she’s really coming down with something and not just reacting to some funky chicken from the night before. Darevas quickly nods and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before heading out to the little market two blocks down.

She hears the front door click open then shut and she lets out another wavering breath. The nausea does seem to be holding back so she slowly stands up and makes her way to the sink to brush her teeth and rinse out the grossness in her mouth.

In her slow ascent to standing, an unopened box of tampons catches her eye. Unopened. Huh. That’s weird, she’s usually down half a box….

….

Holy shit.

Forgoing moving slowly, she all bust runs into the bedroom and yanks open her underwear drawer, rooting to the bottom where she keeps her pregnancy tests. It’s not that she doesn’t  _hide_ this stuff from Darevas, but she organizes it in a way that allows her more control on how she wants things to go. Though she doesn’t exactly feel very organized when she takes the entire box and runs into the bathroom, shuts and locks the door, rips open the box, and sits her ass on the toilet seat. She quickly reads the instructions and relieves herself over the stick. It’s still morning which is when the doctors recommend the tests, she knows, so this is good, and really false positives are rare…but wait, how old are these again? A month? They should still be good, right? Has pregnancy test technology improved in the last month?

Nausea rolls through her again and she wonders if it really was just the funky chicken. But then it rolls back and….

And what if she’s pregnant?

It’s not like this is completely unplanned, they’ve discussed this. Two and a half years of marriage is a good time to start a family, she got her implant birth control removed about six weeks ago but that’s…still really early, right? She can’t be pregnant.

…But what if she is?

She’s always wanted to be mother, she loves children, and Darevas practically screams father material and so it’d be good. Really good. Amazing, even.

A dream come true.

But also terrifying because she was expecting this to take at least a couple more months, she thought she had a little more time to really get accustomed to the idea that there’s going to be a person sharing her body for a while.

Well…there’s no time like the present.

She sets the test on the counter and cleans herself up, going ahead and brushing her teeth and rinsing her mouth as she stares at the test trying to make up its mind. This is worse than watching reality TV competition shows with the dramatic music as the leader decides who’s going home.

_A watched pot never boils!_ Her mother’s voice echoes in her head as she continues to stare at the test. Yes, well, this isn’t a pot, this is a pregnancy test and –

The results!

She picks it up and stares at the little screen before setting it down and promptly vomits again.

The front door clicks open and closed again and her husband’s voice drifts up into the room.

“Honey, I’m home! And I got you both chicken noodle and tomato! I know you prefer tomato and maybe after a while you’ll feel up to eating it?” He shouts up as she heaves one more time into the toilet.

A minute later and there’s a knock on the door.

“Miri? Are you sick again? Do you need help?” He tries to open the door and she lifts her head.

“Be out in a minute.”

Miriel slowly stands up and flushes the toilet, rinses her mouth and brushes her teeth again before taking the pregnancy test in hand and holding it behind her back. She unlocks the door and opens it slowly. Darevas is there with a worried expression on his face.

“I’m going to call that place and-

“Vhenan, I am going to show you something, okay? You’re probably going to freak out, so just…um, here.” She takes out the pregnancy test from her and shows it to him with now filled in screen in simple lettering: 

Pregnant.

One of her favorite things about her husband is his face, how expressive it is and how it can quickly light up with a single word or gesture. But never in all the years that they have been together that she has ever seen his face light up like this. It’s remarkably slow but dramatic as he stares at the words, then glances up at her, then back down at the test, then back her, then her stomach, back to the test.

It’s the longest fifteen seconds of her life followed by the longest two minutes of her life, watching his face turn from concerned to about the happiest she has seen him since  _both_  of their wedding days. A sound similar to a screeching laugh and squeal bubbles up from him as he throws his arms around her and lifts her into the air in a tight hug.

“You’re pregnant! We’re having a baby! A  _baby!_ ”

And just like that, half of her worry and trepidation falls away as she leans into him. Her arms come around his shoulders and she buries her face into the crook of his neck, smiling so widely it almost hurts.

“Yes, yes we are.”

~

Elven babies are so  _small_. Tiny! How on earth was she ready to come out? True, her nanae isn’t a large person by any measure, but  _still_! How can something so tiny and squishy be out in the world that is big and harsh and full of big and harsh things?

Seven and a half pounds. A qunari born that size would be  _miniscule_  and would need to be in the neonatal intensive care unit until they got bigger. But this little elven baby is very much fine, just…tiny. Teeny tiny. With her itty bitty feet and her adorable little hands. And oh her  _nose_  is just so cute!

Virevas may be a tiny baby, but there is no denying that she isn’t an adorable child. And already so ridiculously charismatic with that face, and her feet, and her belly, and her eyes.

Kass  _adores_  her…well, she isn’t entirely sure what relation she is to the babe. Melarue is her grandnanae and Kass is Melarue’s partner…does that make Kass Virevas’s…grandmother?

No. No. Absolutely not. She’s  _thirty-one_. She’s younger than Uthvir, Virevas’s  _parent_ , she can’t possibly be considered a grandmother. Not to mention that her own daughter is only nine.

Still, if she’s going to be spending time with the baby, she’d probably come up with a title she can be called. Aunt? It’s…not exactly accurate, but it feels better than  _grandmother_  at least, and she’s never been an aunt before. There isn’t even a word in qunlat for it.

Auntie Kass. Yes, she likes that. Auntie Kass.

She reaches down into the basinet and touches a gentle finger to the babe’s cheek. She’s so soft and she’s still got that new baby smell and it’s making Kass’s hormones do all sorts of crazy things, like imagining what a little qunari-elven baby would look like. Would they be as small as Virevas? Or as big as Ashokara at a healthy twelve and a half pounds? She thinks they’d likely be somewhere in between, maybe…tennish pounds? That sounds reasonable, much easier to push out than twelve and a half.

She runs a hand over Virevas’s downy hair, feather soft. Would her and Melarue’s child have her springy hair, or their smooth hair? Black or white?

But…this is ridiculous! She hasn’t even been with Melarue that long! A year. They’ve only recently moved in together and she loves them, oh she does, and living and being with them is a dream come true, even for her daughter, so it’s absolute insanity to even be thinking about babies.

…Except that she is.

Kass sighs and touches Virevas’s nose.

“Look at you, already influencing people,” she coos and Virevas wiggles in the way babies do making Kass smile in amazed affection.

“And what do we have here?” A familiar voice asks. Kass glances behind her and smiles at her love walking into the room. They wrap their arms around her and look in after Virevas.

“A woman falling in love with a baby,” Kass answers simply, moving to tickle one of Virevas’s feet.

“She is a rather lovable baby, isn’t she,” they say.

“She is. You know, Ash was a beautiful baby, she had the biggest purple eyes and the cutest little baby gurgle. She’d make that little gurgle whenever she was happy and oh, I  _lived_  for that gurgle. She liked to hold a finger to fall asleep, too, so I would just hold her and she’d hold my finger and that’s how she’d fall asleep, and then I’d have a sleeping baby on me which meant that I fell asleep too, because it’s a sleeping baby, how can you  _not_  fall asleep?” she rambles a bit, still enraptured by the amazingly tiny and cute baby below her.

“She’s still precious today.”

“Yeah but  _babies_  have this thing about them. Look at little Virevas, she knows she’s got it going on as a baby. She has it good, a nanae and papae and a giant family to dote on her and all her needs, and all she needs to do is yawn or poop on time and take a bottle to make everyone happy. Meanwhile we’re all falling hopelessly in love with her. Because she’s a baby, and she’s cute, and oooh, I could just eat her up!” She bends down into the basinet and rubs her nose against the baby’s belly, careful and ever mindful of her horns. She pulls back up and her heart twists and leaps up into her throat as Virevas watches her move.

Oh, sweet, teeny tiny, little baby.

She falls asleep in Melarue’s arms later that night, still wondering about what their baby would look like.

~

Asarla is a practical person. She wears her hair in neat braids for PE, shorts, and an accompanying shirt that she doesn’t mind sweating in. Before the class, she divests herself of her bracelets, five pairs of earrings, and nose ring. She even makes sure to change out of her underwire bra in favor of the sports bra even though she’s so tiny she doesn’t necessarily have to.

Virevas is not as practical. She likes her shinies and her accessories, which is all fine with Asarla as long as her cousin isn’t actually doing anything dangerous. So what if she leaves in the pink diamond earrings Grandnanae got her for her last birthday, and still wears the gold heart locket necklace that her Papae got her last Feast Day, and then pairs it all with glittering bangles she got when they skipped an assembly last week? Just like everyone else, she likes to shine, Virevas just happens to be a bit more literal about it.

The gym teacher isn’t so big on the bangles because they’re doing push-ups today, so he has her take them off, but lets her keep the rest on.

The class begins like normal, with running around on the track ten times before getting to whatever activity their coach has planned for them. Vara can finish it all faster than everyone in the room, but he usually paces himself to skip gingerly along with Asarla and Virevas. Already their height differences are startling, Virevas is still a couple inches ahead of Vara though Asarla wonders exactly how long that will last. She knows at least for herself that she’s done growing, she hasn’t grown since she was eleven, capping out at apparently just an inch shorter than her nabae, making her one of the smallest people in the family. Aunt Ana and Kel were excited though, promptly exclaiming that they had another one for the “short squad.”

They got her a t-shirt.

It was hideous.

As it is, she has to move her small legs faster just to keep up with her seemingly gigantic cousins. Asarla gets really good at running.

She’s jogging along while Vara and Virevas practically walk beside her, contemplating what they should do for Vara’s next costume. He’s doing some number where he represents a crane and Virevas has  _ideas_  about feathers and glitter and far too much embellishment than is actually possible on spandex, but Asarla lets her cousin dream. She’s learning to scale back the additions, it’s only in this initial phase when she is plagued with ideas that she tends to overdesign, otherwise she really does have an eye for this stuff. Which is why when Liniras skips by with her little flock of sycophants, whispering about “that tacky blonde girl” Asarla steps up.

Because if she leaves Virevas do this by herself, there’ll be blood and those stains are a bitch to clean out.

“Says the girl wearing cheap plastic knock-off brands from Claire’s.” Her comeback is swift and the girl stumbles.

“Careful, trip too hard and your caked on makeup will fall off,” Vara quips and the girls stop.

“And we wouldn’t want your friends to see the hideous hag you really are, would we?” Virevas asks.

Asarla flips a braid over her shoulder and they continue their way around the track to sounds of their classmates whispering ‘oooh  _burn._ ’


	70. Drabbles

Felasel is far too old to crawl into his parents bed when he has a nightmare.

But seeking comfort after a particularly bad day does not have an age limit, he notices. And it is not as though his family, extended or otherwise, has ever been particularly restrained when it comes to affection. Perhaps that is why, when he arrives home after jumping the fence instead of going to lunch period, his mother does not yell at him for skipping class.

Instead, she allows him to settle between the pillows on the couch and sit in silence while he counts the ceiling tiles again, and she finishes grading her own students papers.

Felasel stops counting after a half an hour, when his mamas footsteps disappear into the kitchen. She returns a few minutes later with a tray of store brand cookies and two glasses of milk, which she places onto the table delicately enough that the clatter is minimal. He is always thankful for the little things.

Thrice, she pats on his legs to get him to sit up on the couch and allow her space to sit against the corner. He relents, sits up, and they share the milk and cookies in a silence that might be unnerving to anyone else who walked in. He can see the birds fluttering outside by the movement of their shadows, but he can not hear them. If he traced the source, he is sure it would lead to his mother, her own shadow sheltering him from becoming overwhelmed again.

He is getting too old to be protected this way, he knows. He wants to be able to go a full day without twitching whenever someone he doesn’t know gets too close, wants to not be able to see the creatures that follow the less well-trained mages around, or who hide in the alley ways in the lower districts he’s not supposed to go to.

So he finishes his cookies, and drinks his milk, and stares at the floor. Contemplates what steps he could take to achieve his goals, and tries to think of a feasible time frame.

That is why, almost certainly, he is distracted and allows his mother to pull him against her. And when he complains that he is getting too old for hugs, she simply sighs and says she is not ready to give up her babies so he will need to put up with it a little longer.

Felasel supposes, as his mothers shadow wraps around him, that if he is simply doing this for  _Mama’s_  sake, it is not so childish. Helping out your parents is supposed to be a very mature thing to do, after all. Even if it sometimes includes falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon to a lullaby you used to hear as a child.

 

–

 

“Come have a drink,” Melanadahl insists with a peek into her tent, just as he has every night of their expedition so far.

“Alright,” Selene replies, shutting and locking her suitcase with a quiet click.

“One little drink is not going to-wait, did you say yes?” Melanadahl asks, ears perking up. “What happened? Did you and the D-bag have a fight? Ready to learn what revenge sex is?”  

 

Selene rolls her eyes “Things with Dirthamen are fine. But it’s our last night in Orzammar, and I want to know what the fuss is about dwarven ale. Sex is off the table for me, but I’ll play wing-man if you want.”

“I’ll take it!” Melanadahl grins, snatching Selenes arm and yanking her out of her tent and towards the bar.

 

They have been in Orzammar for three weeks now, comparing theories and studying and generally doing menial tasks for Innovation as an official ‘research expedition’ for the University. Selene is getting credits for coming with, and it’s not as though elves get many chances to see  _Orzammar,_  so she had jumped at the invitation even if it meant giving up a large chunk of her summer vacation.

 

Melanadahl snags a table for the two of them, ordering two dwarven ales from the barkeep who eyes them both suspiciously until they flash their 'we are here by permission please don’t kill us for being obvious outsiders and also people will notice if we go missing’ badges from the university.

Two large mugs land on the table in front of them, and Melanadahl tips an actual gold piece, so the server keeps an eye on their safety for the rest of the night.

 

Dwarven ale is a lot stronger than most alcohol Selene has had before. She’s only halfway through her tankard when the room starts to spin and Des starts to giggle.

 

“Hey-hey-hey,” Melanadahl laughs, tapping Selenes shoulder repeatedly and nodding towards an older dwarven woman sitting at the bar. “She’s cute, right?”

 

Selenes gaze rakes up and down the woman in what she hopes is a subtle way, but judging by the grin she gets back, it seems more likely she shouldn’t play poker while drunks.

“She could snap you in two,” Selene giggles as her eyes land on the dwarfs bared arms. They’re big. Very big. And toned. Are they getting bigger?

 

Selene blinks, as her entire vision is taken up by one of the arms. She reaches out and squeezes it, in awe of how little give there is beneath her touch and the woman smiles at the pair.

“Well. Hello hello,” the dwarven woman greets. Selene can see now that she has a pair of particularly blue eyes and dark hair in a dorky hair cut, and she briefly wonders if she may have a  _type._  “What brings you two here so late?”

“It’s our last night in the city, and we wanted to go out with a bang,” Melanadahl grins, while Selene groans at the line. The woman laughs, and it’s  _beautiful,_ and oh no she’s sitting next to her.

Selene takes a long sip of her ale.

 

The night continues, Melanadahl flirting with the beautiful dwarven woman with the round nose and the arms that could probably carry her if she tried, and the dwarven woman apparently flirting with Selene instead.

Selene who should not be flirting back.

…

Selene flirts back a  _little._

 

But as the night wears on, Melanadahl wanders off with another pair of dwarves who are more interested in his offer, and leaves her alone with the beautiful buff  dwarven woman.

Selene giggles into her empty cup “I don’t even know your name,”

 

“Carina,” the woman smiles, and Selene sighs because of course even her  _name_  sounds like magic.  _Carina._

…wait. Selene’s heard that name before.

“…Do I know you?” Selene asks, eyes narrowing as she sways just a little in her chair. But a powerful hand, holds her steady, hooks her arm over her shoulder, and escorts her out of the bar and back to the campsite.

Selene was right. She  _can_  carry her.

That is…huh. Ok. She sort of gets where Dirthamen is coming from.

“Sort of. I know  _of_ you,” the woman explains “You’re the Dalish girl who works in the library.”

Selene blinks, and blames the alcohol when her head lands on the woman’s shoulder.   
“And you’re…Carina. Carina…” Selene muses, repeating the name and trying to find the connection.

“I teach in the chemistry department. You probably saw my name on the paperwork for this expedition. You’re also signed up for my class next semester.”

 

Selene blinks again, slowly.

Oh.

Oh, she’s going to get an entire semester of staring at this beautiful dwarven goddess.

Oh, she’s not going to be able to pay  _any_  attention to the class, is she?

Selene giggles, unexpectedly.

 

Carina carefully places Selene down on a smooth rock just outside of their camp and waits for the giggle fit to stop.

“Sorry,” Selene apologizes with an embarrassing hiccup.

“No need to be sorry. I’m supposed to look out for the students. It’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

“You  _are_  very pretty to look at,” Selene slips.

Carina smiles, and tucks a small piece of hair behind Selenes reddened ear. “That feeling is mutual. But I don’t date my students.”

“I’m seeing someone anyway.”

“Well, they must be very lucky,” Carina gently responds, and holds out one of her hands “May I see your phone?”

Selene hands it over without question and watches as Carina loads in a new contact number.

“If things go south, or if you just need a friend to talk to, send me a text.”

Selene nods, but can’t seem to find words to explain that she  _has_ friends and also Carinas eyes are really pretty but also her boyfriend is incredible and where was this beautiful dwarven goddess before she went and fell in love because this timing is  _terrible_.

Apparently some of that makes it past Selenes lips, because Carina laughs again and helps tuck Selene into her tent at the end of the night.

  
Melanadahl teases her the whole trip home.

–

 

Selene’s Papae grumbles every morning when she goes off to school. He complains that she would be better off home-schooled, and Selene has to argue that she  _likes_  school, and her teacher and her classmates and even her homework sometimes.

So usually, she still gets to go.

She likes her classmates a lot. There’s even other mages, but the teacher says they’re not supposed to do magic in class. Her Papae says she’s not supposed to use her fire magic  _at all,_  and she usually gets tired from practicing her healing when she finishes her homework at night anyways, so the restriction doesn’t really affect her.

At least not until she accidentally burns up one of the kids macaroni pictures.

She didn’t  _mean_  to. It was sitting on the windowsill, still drying from all of the glitter and glue that Aelynthi used to make it 'just right’ and Selene  _knows_  he worked really hard on it, but there was a puppy running around the yard in front of the school and she got excited when she saw it, and it all happened really fast, and its not her fault!

But that’s not how things work.  Selene’s Papaes gonna make her stop coming to school now, Mamaes going to end up listening to him about moving,  _again_ , and Selene is gonna miss out on the field trip to the science center next month just because she made one mistake! She sniffles, and tries not to cry, because if she cries the teacher will come check on her and then she’ll have to tell her what happened, and things will get even  _worse._

So instead, she takes a tight, shaky grip on Aelynthis picture, and stuffs it into his cubby, hoping that maybe he’ll think  _he_  did it and just forgot, and no one will blame Selene and she’ll just give him her fruit cups at lunch for a while to make up for it without telling him why.

But when she turns around, Aelynthi is staring at her. Watching her stuff his macaroni art into his cubby, and Selene feels her heart drop into her stomach.

He’s about to speak, but all Selene can hear is her Papae saying things like ’ _dangerous_ ’ and ’ _destructive_ ’ and ’ _moving away again’_  and she is only five years old after all.

She cries, and runs away. Down the hall and out of the school before she can be caught, before they can punish her, or call her parents, and she keeps running until she can’t see straight anymore and her lungs are burning and she doesn’t recognize the street signs.


	71. Stars and Storms

Space is big and vast, and when people get caught up in themselves, their problems, their grief, the stars are there to remind them that there is something more.

Rissa can’t believe there are people who live their whole lives without ever looking up. People who don’t know a single name of a constellation, who don’t recognize the awe inspiring awesomeness of the universe.

Multiple universes.

Billions upon billions upon billions of stars, of worlds, just waiting to be explored.

To be discovered.

Maybe her home planet is discovered first? Who knows?

She looks up at the stars and sees a world of opportunity, and she feels like she’s on equal ground, where her flaws, her anxieties don’t mean anything.

So she’ll keep looking up.

 

~

 

Rain has always been something that reminded Vara of his mother.

Arlathan rains are heavy, and the droplets are fat, and it can go on for hours. He likes the rain enough, storms are nice, too.

Rissa loves storms. The sounds calm her, and the smell of the air after a storm made her smile. The night sky after a day of rain was clearer, and brighter, she would say.

In Ferelden, rains are quick showers, not the heavy droplets Tevinter is known to experience, and it makes him miss home.

When it rains in Ferelden, he settles in with a hot drink and calls his family, happy to hear the voices of his parents.


	72. Favourites

Nithroel is not the type to choose favorites. He likes to believe that, in the end, he loves all of the little children that come traipsing into his dance studio.

Most of them leave, eventually. They come because their parents want them to, and the desire to continue fades quickly. Several of his grandchildren stay on, for a time, and he knows none of them mean it badly when they leave.

Dance has always been his passion, but it is not one shared by many. For a while, he thinks Olwyn might stick with it. She’s got the determination and dedication to do so, and her footwork is solid.

“I’m never going to be  _great_ , grandpapae,” She tells him once, “It’s like Numiel says, I started too late. I don’t have enough foundation to be better than just good.”

He knows that feeling. Remembers how hard he worked and worked to get where he is…and knowing that no matter his passion, and his technical eye, his skill could never fully catch up.

He remembers being a young boy in the Seleny alienage, watching the dance performances on TV and mimicking them as best as he could. He remembers the pain, and forcing his body to move in ways it had never done before, and the scorn from the other dance students at the academy— _he’s never been taught before, his foundation is all wrong, he doesn’t know HOW._

He remembers the year he’d finally made it to the World Dance Competition, standing under all those lights, heart beating a million times a minute, young and frightened and so excited.

He remembers his performance.

_Nithroel Elvhen lacks passion. His moves, while succinct, hold no emotion._

_It is subtle! His technique is flawless, but he is not adventurous enough in his choices. It is a gentle emotion._

_It lacks impact. No matter the skills he has, he will never go further than this._

_We have seen all that Nithroel Elvhen has to offer. And while it is beautiful, that is all it is._

He remembers the headlines, and he remembers that slow, sucking feeling in his chest as he’d read the words.

It had…it had taken a lot out of him, those words. For the longest time, he’d thought his own hard work and passion and determination would make up for his late start. But his body just couldn’t keep up, even when he knew how it was supposed to move. And he does. His eye for these things is superb. It’s the reason that despite his lackluster performances, he’s remained a name in the dance world.

People come to him; for advice, with offers to make him their exclusive instructor, former rivals asking if he will pass a discerning eye over their troupes and performances and tell them what needs to be improved upon, with requests for choreography.

He gives advice, when they ask. He looks over performances and spots weaknesses and errors and fixes them. He’s choreographed one ballet, in all his years. His crowning achievement, the dance world claims. A piece that manages to convey all the things he himself has been unable to. A hallmark of a modern interpretation of classical technique.

But the part he enjoys the most is his studio in Arlathan, and the pitter patter of little feet, and the bright smiles on the faces of the children who crowd around the barre and watch, entranced, as the older students dance for them.

He tries to gives them the foundation he never received. For children who can afford it and children who cannot. Because passion is priceless, and he never wants another child to be hindered the way he was.

And then one day Varawell comes to his studio. Tiny Varawell, clutching his mother’s hand, with his serious face and his determination. And he flourishes. Nithroel knows he’s not meant to pick favorites, he does.

But Varawell, he thinks, will always have a special place in his heart.

In the end, Varawell leaves as well, to trade the dance stage for an ice rink.

But Varawell returns. Always returns. For advice, for a quiet place to practice, for training on jumps and balance and muscle toning. And Nithroel gives it readily. And he watches, with pride, when Varawell wins competition after competition, when he sees the forms he’s drilled into him for years coming through on the ice.

Even as his eyesight goes, as age rears its ugly head, Nithroel watches.

Nithroel pauses, head cocked to one side, as he listens to the soft ‘shk shk’ of skates against ice. “You didn’t land that salchow properly, did you?”

There’s a pause, before Varawell skates over to the edge of the rink, and leans against it with a soft sigh. “You always know, don’t you?”

He can barely see him anymore, just a vague outline, the shimmering of his costume, and a patch of white hair. Nithroel leans forward, and pats him on the head with a soft smile. “Of course.”

His favorite indeed.


	73. Melarue & Kassaran

Reading has always been difficult for Ash. The pages are hard to look at the text is always somehow incredibly tiny. Everything just…blurs together. Her teachers tell her to work harder on her reading, they don’t listen when she says her head hurts because it’s a common excuse for the kids to try and get out of reading. But her head does hurt. Her eyes hurt. 

Mama wants her to learn how to read and Ash does too but she gets five minutes into it and she has to stop. She gets held back in reading for two years, put into an after school program that sends a note home that finally identifies the problem.

Ash needs glasses. 

Mama stares at the note and she breaks out all of her scary adult records that she keeps. She takes out her calculator and she sits at the table for the entire night.

When Ash wakes up, her mother is softly crying and Ash knows she’s not getting glasses, that the emergency room visit two months ago when Ash got strep has drained them. Glasses aren’t happening. 

So Ash tries to do better, for her mama. She tries to read the words, tries to put them together in her mind and power through the pain. Her grades improve slightly, not enough to not hold her back for a year, but they do improve. The people in the after school program are angry, she can tell, but they assure her that they’re not angry at her or her mama. 

Summer arrives and she wants to go to summer school but the school’s now charging a fee for it and Mama can’t afford it. Even with her book advance and the wonderful sales from her latest book. Mama says they have something called debt that means that she has to pay it off first before doing anything else because she’s afraid of what will happen if she doesn’t. 

So Mama pays the debt as much as she can. And then her editor calls and tells her that she should go on a book tour around Nevarra, where her book is selling like crazy and people want her to sign copies and read to them. 

Mama cries that night too, but she says it’s because she’s happy. Ash is happy too - she’s never been to Nevarra! But Mrs. Greenwald talked about it in geography class and it sounds like a nice place.

The bookstores that are hosting Mama are paying for everything, which is good, because otherwise they couldn’t go. Mama shows her pictures of the hotels they’ll be staying in  - there’s four in total, which Ash thinks is a lot. They’ll be flying in a plane too and that’s….

Ash has never flown in an airplane before! And if the other passengers stare at when her and her mama get on the plane, she doesn’t notice, she’s too excited. An actual plane! They’re going to be up in the air and seeing clouds! 

“Do you think we’ll see a dragon up here?” Ash asks quietly and her mama shrugs.

“Maybe! I’ve never been on a plane before. Maybe this is where all the dragons are hiding!” 

That…is exciting! Mama lets her have the window seat and there aren’t any dragons but the clouds are beautiful and fluffy and she wants to touch them. The sun turns everything pink and she feels suffused in everything pretty. 

“I wish I could wear clouds,” she says and her mama chuckles.

“You would look amazing in clouds.”

Landing isn’t so much fun, but descending with the sun is neat and Ash feels very close to her magic in that moment - falling below the cloud-line just as the sun disappears over the horizon. She presses her hand against the glass and bids the fire good night, and the little blaze in her feels warm and calm. 

They eat at the airport, and they’re  _fancy_  burgers too with roasted peppers and spicy cheese that makes Ash’s mouth tingle. She puts her pinkie up because she feels very fancy and like a princess. 

The first city they’re in they draw a smallish crowd that gets bigger and bigger as Mama reads from her book that Ash feels like she knows so well now she can recite it from memory. 

One lady in the crowd starts crying by Ash and she looks up at her.

“Why are you crying? It’s a happy story.”

“My niece is a mage and I think I’m going to buy this for her.” She says quietly and Ash kinda gets it. Some people don’t like her just because of her magic, but in the story, the girl who looks like Ash gets a bunch of friends who like her just for her and even like her magic too. Not because the magic does things for them, but because it’s a part of her, and that’s what true friends do. 

The next city they go to there’s a bigger crowd waiting for them and Ash takes the time while Mama is reading to go to the other end of the kid’s section. She takes out her dried apple slices from the little bag she got in the last city when she gets hungry, nibbling on them carefully as she moves through the aisles. She turns down one and stops when she sees a very tall and very prettily dressed person. They’re not as tall as Mama, but they’re in heels and so she thinks maybe they’re close. A hat that she thinks she saw in a magazine from last month rests on their head and she wonders where they got it. The magazine said it cost a lot and when she showed it to Mama, she simply said that with that money, she could buy Ash all the pairs of glasses she could ever want. 

Ash then showed her a picture of glasses that sold for the same amount as the hat and she almost turned white. 

But they are sorta thin and it’s around lunch and she wonders if they’ve eaten recently. When the old man who lives just outside of their building got this thin, Mama started bringing him whatever leftovers she could spare. It’s important to feed people, she knows. 

She steps into the aisle and squints her eyes, trying to read the titles of the books and seeing ones for mage children, for human mage children. Her neck tingles and she looks up to see them looking down at her, silver eyes bright and pretty and lined with blue and black liner. 

She lifts an apple slice up to them and they take it between two claw like manicured nails that ash knows is very in fashion right now. 

“Thank you, da’len. Where is your mama?” They ask and her eyes widen they say it right without any prompting from her. She smiles.

“She’s the one reading to all the kids right now. Her book’s about magic and kids and is really good.” She says, she wants people to buy Mama’s books so she can keep writing because she really likes to. 

“That does sound like a nice book.”

“Mama says that it’s not about me, but I think it is because the main girl has magic like me and she looks like me too.”

“If the boot fits,” they say and she doesn’t quite get it, but adults can be weird with words, so she ignores it. 

“Can you take me to your mama?” They ask and she knows that adults can get worried about kids getting snatched and stuff so she shrugs and hands them another apple slice before leading them to the crowd gathered around Mama. She’s almost done with the book, which is good because she looks very uncomfortable in that tiny seat they made her sit in. 

“Is that your mama?”

“Yeah, and that’s the book. It’s really good, you should buy it.” She thinks that if they can buy the hat in the magazine, they can buy Mama’s book - it’s only like 15 or something. 

She looks up at them and they’re softly chuckling, “I think I will.” 

She cocks her head at them, “Is your kid a mage?”

They nod, “Both my son and granddaughter are mages.” Wait, granddaughter?

“How can you have a granddaughter? You’re not old.” 

They grin at her and wink, “Looks can be deceiving.” 

Her brow furrows and she tries to think on it, but all she can think is how weird adults are. 

“’And then Hera stood up and she said proudly, ‘My magic is part of me! And all of me is beautiful! My magic is beautiful and if you cannot see it, then I will see it for you.’” Mama reads and Ash smiles, this is her favorite part, where Hera, the main character, goes and stands up to the bully of the story who says that magic is bad and horrible and ugly. 

“Did you do that?” The stranger asks and she shakes her head.

“No, but Mama wants me to know she loves my magic, even if she doesn’t have magic herself.” Ash answers as the crowd erupts into applause at the end. The stranger claps along with them. 

“She sounds like a very nice mama.” 

“She is,” she answers and they place a gentle hand to the back of her shoulders, guiding her back to where Mama is standing and smiling, waving at little girls who are clutching books to their chest. Ash knows that feeling, of seeing yourself somewhere you’re not used to seeing yourself. 

But then Mama’s face turns to Ash and then to the stranger by her and she moves to them quickly.

“Oh she wasn’t bothering you, was she?”

“No! I just gave them apple slices and told them to buy your book,” Ash huffs, crossing her arms. 

“Ash! You can’t just go around telling people how to spend their money! I am so sorry, she normally knows better -

The stranger chuckles, “She is right, she was not a bother at all. And I enjoy the book, buying it is no trouble.” They smile and Mama pauses and as Ash watches she is again assured of just how weird adults are. 

Mama’s face darkens a lot and she’s smiling as the stranger smiles and leans forward and Ash wonders what on earth is going on. Mama ends up taking one of her books and writing her number in it, signing it, then giving it to the stranger, still blushing fiercely as the stranger takes it. 

Oh right, not stranger anymore, but  _Mel._  

When Mama’s phone rings an hour later, she smiles and twirls a bit of her hair between her thumb and index finger. They get back to the hotel and enlists Ash’s help in deciding what to wear because apparently Mama has a ‘date’. 

She rummages through Mama’s closet and pulls out the dress she wore at the first reading - it’s red and has white daisies all over it and is very pretty. She tells Mama that she should wear heels but Mama of course doesn’t have heels, so she just wears her black flats that she got at Goodwill for a dollar.

“At least wear red lipstick! That’s what you’re supposed to wear on a date!” Ash calls from the main room while her mother gets ready in the bathroom. When she emerges from the bathroom, Ash gasps, almost dropped her fork into her dinner.

“You’re so pretty!” She squeals and her mama rolls her eyes but smiles. 

“Thanks, sweetheart. Okay, rules, listen to Miss Lizzie and bedtime is at nine -

“MAMA-

“Nope, bedtime is at nine, we’ve got an early flight. If you need anything, call me, okay? You have my number?” She asks and Ash nods just as there’s a knock on the door. Miss Lizzie comes in and tells Mama that there’s someone waiting for her in the lobby and Mama almost chickens out but Ash tells her to be calm, that she can do this and to go because Ash is worried that Mama is going to be a fuddy duddy forever if she doesn’t.

“Geez, thanks,” she says but she leaves, waving bye as she closes the door behind her.

Miss Lizzie is pretty fun, Ash thinks, they have a packing game and then watch cartoons until it’s nine and Ash gets tucked int to sleep. But she stays awake and wonders what the ‘date’ is like. She wonders what Mel is wearing. Is it fancy like the hat they wore? Did they keep the blue and black eyeliner? Are they wearing heels? What do they like to eat? Mama said they’re going to a Tevene place and she wonders if they like spicy food. Ash loves spicy food, it’s her favorite. Mama likes spicy food too. 

She falls asleep thinking about spicy chicken and sauce and rice. Halfway into the night the bed shifts and she blinks her eyes open to see her mama climbing into the bed next to her.

“Shhh, go back to sleep,” she says but Ash doesn’t, she can’t, because she remembers that there was a date and now she’s home from the date and she wants to know.

“Was it nice?” She asks as strong arms come around her in a hug. Ash shifts to snuggle into her mama’s chest and she sighs.

“It was very nice.” 

“Do you like them?” She asks.

Her mama pauses and runs gentle fingers over her stubby horns, “I think I do, but that doesn’t mean you have to. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Ash is quiet for a moment, listening to her mama’s heartbeat for a moment.

She’s scared, Ash understands that. When you don’t know what’s gonna happen it’s a little scary. Like when Ash was walking into the airplane for the first time, she didn’t know what was going to happen but she got on the airplane anyways, and it turned out to be so awesome. 

Mama’s scared just like Ash was. And when Ash was scared, Mama distracted her with stories and things. Ash doesn’t really know any stories but she can try.

“Do they like spicy food?” She asks and her mama laughs.

“Yes, Ash, yes they do.”

They fly to the next city the next day and Ash wonders if she’ll ever see Mel again. If Mama will, if Mama wants to. Does Mel want to? 

In the fourth and final city, Mama gets a call and she blushes and Ash knows that it’s Mel because she only ever smiled like that when she was talking to Mel. And while Mama may not know what’s going to happen, Ash thinks that whatever it is, it’s good, because she’s smiling like that, and she’s never smiled like that before. 

When they get back home to their small apartment, there’s a check in the mail. It’s from Mama’s publisher saying that the tour was a wild success and that her royalties increased threefold. 

Mama cries that night and the next day she takes Ash to the eye doctor to get glasses. She stares at the frames for a long time, trying each one on before settling on big purple cat-eye ones that make her feel fancy, like she belongs in a magazine. 

The next time she sees Mel, she’s wearing her glasses and they compliment them. They say she looks glamorous. She preens under the attention and thanks them, then compliments their hat. 

 

~

 

Ashokara is sleeping over at a friend’s house.

_Ashokara is sleeping over at a friend’s house._

The line repeats over and over inside of Kass’s head as she sips the appetizer soup at the fancy restaurant Melarue decided to take her to. Her eyes flick up to see them spoon a mouthful of the daily soup and she actually blushes. This is ridiculous, it’s like she’s a randy teenager again waiting to sneak in a Sten-in-training into her dorm after the Tamassrans left to tend to the younger kids. 

She looks back down at her own soup. Then back up at Melarue.

They’re really pretty.

Their hair is up in one of their more intricate hairstyles, full of little gold flower motifs and rubies to match their floor length dress. They’re more than pretty, really. Radiant. Stunning. Sultry and sexy and sinfully tempting. 

Ashokara is sleeping over at a friend’s house. 

Melarue and Kassaran have been dating for a while now - about three months, and they have been wondrously patient with her and sex. It’s…admittedly been awhile and there is of course the added complication of her daughter. Sex just…doesn’t happen. She’s either working, sleeping, eating, or mothering. And sure, she bought that vibrator a year and a half ago and it’s been great for taking the edge off late at night when she is absolutely positive that Ash is down for the night. But plastic doesn’t hold a candle to Melarue. 

Her hand trembles a bit, spilling hot soup on her blouse.

“Ah!” She hisses, quickly rubbing at her shirt. Melarue looks up, blinks and waves their hand, magically cooling her off then taking the stain out.

“Practical magic is a must, darling,” they purr, smiling coquettishly. She swallows.

Ashokara is having a sleep over at a friend’s house.

Melarue winks at her and she blushes. They know because  _of course they do_. Oh she’s terrible at this. 

They lean forward, lips quirked into a knowing smile and Kass just about jumps out of her seat when she feels their foot stroke up her calf under the table. 

“I’m having a wonderful time,” they say in that easy-going tone of theirs. 

“I am too, this restaurant is amazing,” she replies. They hum and reach forward to lightly touch the back of one of her hands.

“My company is much more enticing.” 

Oh. 

Kass flips her hand over so her own fingers can feel them. Soft, delicate touches to their wrist and fingers before lacing together. 

“My company is pretty spectacular themselves,” she tries. They smile and it’s all Kass can do to not suggest they leave now. 

Food first, she tells herself, food first then…well, food first. 

Melarue’s foot continues to rub against her leg for most of dinner, and when they stop, Kass gets a little initiative of her own and rubs  _her_  foot against them. They quirk an eyebrow at her and she blushes but continues the contact. 

The check arrives and they handle it quickly before leading her out to the car. She slides in and is almost immediately pulled into a long, heavy kiss. She leans into them, cupping their face as they slide their tongue into her mouth. 

A groan leaves her as a rush of heat fills her body, pooling in her belly. They purr in response only to pull away enough to nip at her lip.

“Melarue?”

“Yes, my dear?” 

“Ash….is sleeping at a friend’s house tonight.” They pause and smile against her lips.

“Oh really?”

“Mhm.” She answers, tongue darting out to lick their lips.

“Do you want to have sex?” They purr.

She swallows, then nods faintly, “Yes, very much so.” They smile and bend down to kiss her neck.

“Wonderful.” They shift away and back into the driver’s seat while she slumps against the passenger. The car’s put in drive and then they’re speedily making their way back to her apartment, her arousal building with every mile.

She squirms in her seat, the thong she’s wearing specifically for tonight shifting uncomfortably against her skin. Friction, she needs friction, preferably in the form of Melarue’s fingers or mouth….or whichever form pleases them at the moment. 

Wanting more contact, Kass reaches over and trails a finger over the top of their thigh. They hum then brush her hand away.

“Not while I’m driving, dear.” Ooh, so it’s distracting then. She makes a mental note. 

Melarue pulls into the parking lot, switches the car off, then leans back over to kiss her once again. It’s harder and quicker, but leaves her just as jarred when they suddenly break away and exit the car. Suddenly they’re opening her car door and helping her out. She unfolds her tall body out of the car and gently pulls them towards her. Their hands trail up her arms to rest on her biceps while she cups their face and rests her forehead against theirs.

“You’re really wonderful, and so good,” her kiss is softer, but just as hot. They sigh and lean into her. She is struck with how much she wants them, and not just for sex, but them. It’s…a bit overwhelming to feel this sudden outpouring of affection, a thing she hasn’t felt in so long, and to be receiving it back….she’s a starved woman being presented a buffet and she is gorging herself. 

They break away, lips now swollen from kisses, with a wicked look and lead her back to the apartment.

Oh she does feel like that giddy teenager, except now she knows what she’s doing and she has Melarue. Melarue, who she is fairly certain she’s falling in love with. But she tries not to think about that too much right now, because right now…right now they’re going to have sex. 

Somehow they make it to her living room before clothes begin to fall off. Her hands are quick to gently pull the dress off of their shoulders while they run hands full of magic over her body. The buttons to her blouse snap open, revealing the…not spectacularly fancy bra. Beautiful bras in her size are horribly expensive and few and far between - she stopped looking even before Ash was born, and it only got worse after having a baby. 

But their expression softens and they dip down to kiss the valley between her breasts. 

“You are incomparably lovely,” they kiss the fabric of her bra then peel off her blouse. 

“You…” but her speech is cut off quickly as they suck a hickey into her neck. Their hands wander over her body, palming her breasts, gripping her hips, stroking her into a fine frenzy.

They pull the fabric of her bra to the side and kiss the soft flesh of her breast. Her hands begin the delicate task to loose their hair when they gently brush their teeth over a nipple. 

“Ooh,” she gasps, fingers digging a bit more into their hair. Her body arches into them, wanting to give and get, simmering with thick desire. 

Their mouth is hot, hands firm and tantalizing and –

_Knock, knock._

“Miss Tashorit? It’s Harold from 6B with your daughter, she got sick.”

Melarue and Kassaran freeze. Her eyes flutter closed in exasperation. Of course her daughter got sick  _tonight_. Arousal and worry fight briefly within her, but there is no contest, no option really, her baby is sick.

“Alright, Harold, I’ll be there in just a minute!” She rights her clothing as Melarue rights theirs, shoving a boob back to its proper spot then buttoning the blouse. She checks to make sure Melarue is decently covered before opening the door to see a disheveled Harold and a very miserable looking Ashokara.

She bends down and smiles softly, touching her fingertips to her daughter’s hair.

“Hey, baby.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your date,” Ash mumbles.

“Oh no, baby, it’s okay, you’re sick. Thank you Harold,” she says, ushering in Ash and closing the door as Harold walks away. Ash rubs her face with one hand and waves at Melarue with the other.

“Oh look at my Apple, we’re not feeling too good are we?” They ask, bending down next to her. Ash shakes her head.

“No, I threw up.”

Kass places a hand on her daughter’s forehead and frowns. She feels feverish, which isn’t too uncommon since she tends to gravitate towards fire magic, but she’s also sweaty, which is not a normal response to her feverishness.

“How about you lay down on the couch and watch cartoons while I make you some soup and saltines okay?” Kass suggests and Ash nods, letting her mother guide her to the couch. Melarue is next to her, draping a blanket over Ash’s form.

“Oh my poor baby,” Kass whispers before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Her sexual frustration, while still burning, is easily ignored when her child is sick. She’s got what she likes to call her “Mommy Blinders” on, so she doesn’t entirely notice Melarue following her into her small kitchen area.

“I understand if you want me to leave, I had a wonderful night and you need to be with Ash now,” they say nonchalantly as Kass bustles around to make some chicken noodle soup. But she turns slightly to Mel and stops.

“Oh…do you want to leave? I mean, the original plan’s caved in, so…if you want to leave…” she doesn’t even really know what she’s saying. Does she want Melarue to leave?

She looks at them in their beautiful red dress, and then at their silver eyes and at the way they are so kind and loving already to her daughter.

No, she doesn’t want them to leave.

Melarue takes a step forward and caresses her cheek, “Do you want me to leave?” They’re voice is soft so Ash can’t hear and it coincidentally sends a shiver down Kass’s spine. She sighs, leaning into their touch.

“I’d like it if you stayed,” she whispers quietly. Their smile is small but telling as they lean up to kiss her.

“Then I’ll stay.”

It turns out to be a wonderful idea too, for Melarue to help with Ash’s stomach bug. They help the little girl to the bathroom when she needs, and knows some soothing healing spells that seem to work wonders for her.

Finally, they get Ash to bed and collapse back onto Kass’s own. Mel’s changed into a pair of Kass’s pajamas by now, their hair down and soft, makeup free and looking so…soft in her bed. Soft and lovely and so perfect.

She is suddenly struck with the first time she saw Melarue, not in person but in a film, dressed in the most glamorous dress she had ever seen, looking every bit the untouchable movie-star. She looks at them now, looking ever so touchable and in a way, much more desirable. They’re relaxed around her, with their black hair fanning out around them, the shirt they’re in riding up to reveal a sliver of skin over their borrowed shorts.

She thinks this is her favorite Melarue yet.

Kass runs a hand over that sliver of stomach and their eyes open, flicking up to her.

“I think this is my favorite look of yours yet.” She kisses their ear and they chuckle, arching just a bit towards her.

“It is certainly more comfortable than half the dresses I wear on the red carpet.”

“Only half? Oh I remember seeing you in one, it was…what, three or four years ago, the one made out of plastic bottles?”

“Oooh, yes,  _that_  monstrosity. I am all for being environmentally conscious, but that dress was a disaster.” They frown and snuggle in closer to her.

“When I was still a part of the Qun, there was this trend of wearing belts at the hips and waist and most Qunari fashion involves bare midriffs, so you would have this belt around your waste, heating up and digging into your skin – it was horribly uncomfortable.”

“That sounds dreadful. Though, I do approve of you having a bare midriff.” Their hand sneaks up under her own shirt, nails gently pressing into her soft abdomen. She squeaks in response.

“Oh yes, because the world needs to see my stretch marks and cellulite.” They roll over on top of her, eyes fierce as their hands run over her stomach lovingly.

“Your body gave life, and it is beautiful and natural. I adore your body and if there wasn’t a sick sleeping child in the other room, I would spend the rest of the night demonstrating how much I adore this body.” And then they’re kissing her, long and deep and oh.

Oh.

She doesn’t this to go away in the morning, and perhaps ever. She kisses them back, her own hands slipping under the shirt to touch them in return.

“Melarue?” She asks against their lips.

“Yes, darling?”

“I…would very much like to be your partner. Formally. Actually.” She wants to be able to say they’re hers, and she theirs. 

Melarue pauses and pulls back with a curious look of awe and…something else that she can’t quite place. They lean their forehead against hers, still quiet. Worry blooms in her and she wiggles a bit beneath them.

“I mean, I just want to be with you, we don’t have to label it, that doesn’t really matter to me as long as I have you and you have me and -

“Kassaran, yes.”

“…What?” She whispers, unsure of what they just said. They pull back slightly to smile brilliantly down at her.

“Yes, I would love to be your partner, and you be mine.”

Her heart soars and the widest smile she has worn in a long time spread across her face. 

  
~

 

When she left her husband, she took all her jewelry, all of the cash out of the box under the floorboard in the bathroom, and disappeared with her five-year-old while he was asleep. 

She sold all that jewelry, and some clothes too. Shoes. Whatever they didn’t need got sold, put forward to getting away to some place safe for them. The apartment she was able to get was small, dingy, and most likely violating at least three health codes - but it was off the street and away from him, making it essentially heaven for Kassaran. 

Ash hadn’t been so sure about it, but she eventually came around to realizing that he couldn’t get to her here. Couldn’t yell at her. Couldn’t hit her for something she couldn’t help. 

Safety came with that apartment, and Kass loved it. 

And then she met Melarue, gorgeous, breath-taking, stupidly  _wealthy_  Melarue. And suddenly she was nervous, ashamed even of that little apartment. Of the peeling painted walls, the electric stove with only two working burners, having to dry her laundry out on a line. She worried that as soon as they realized the depth of her poverty that they would lose interest, not directly due to her wealth, but more of thinking she only wanted them for their money - which she didn’t. So she fought that by asking to pay for her portion of meals…but that meant going to less expensive “restaurants” that were barely more than glorified fast food places. 

They never commented, only smiled and sneaked kisses and touches and continued to make her feel like the loveliest Vashoth woman in existence. 

She knew they didn’t like her situation. Their eyes would flicker over Ash’s outfit that she was wearing for the fourth time in two weeks, noting the small holes, faded lettering, and ill-fit. Blank-faced and concerned, they kept quiet, but Kass knew.

They commented on how Kass’s ears were obviously pierced but how she never wore jewelry. Fingers would trail over her collarbone, and they’d sigh about how beautiful a string of pearls would look against her dark skin. 

They’re wearing giant diamond earrings one night at dinner, treating both Kass and Ash to one of their favorite restaurants. There are smaller gems in their hair, done up in a wonderfully intricate do that has her wondering exactly how long it would take for her to undo it.

The waitress comes by to take their orders but Ash is staring intently at Melarue’s earrings. She has to be told three times to tell the waitress what she wants, but after the girl leaves, Ash returns her attention to the baubles. 

Taking the hint, Melarue carefully unhooks one from their ear and bends down to show Ash. 

It is all Kass can do to not cry as she watches her daughter’s face light up when Melarue encourages her to touch the diamonds. 

A month later, Melarue takes Ash shopping and comes home with armloads of properly fitting clothes and little diamond studs in her ears. 

Ash runs into the apartment with the biggest smile on her face, twirling about in a dress from a store Kass had only dreamed of shopping at. There is an actual tiara on her head, fitted around her wrapped, budding horns. 

“Mama! Look! I’m like a princess!” She spins and the layers of the dress fan out in a brilliant, sparkling display. Melarue is beaming as they bend down and press a kiss to one of her horns. 

“You  _are_  a princess, Apple.” They assert and Ash’s smile turns to a whole new level. She throws herself in their arms, curly white hair bouncing in a dramatic halo as she clutches at them.

But she quickly moves away to bounce over to the other clothes and instructs Kass and Melarue to sit for the fashion show. 

“I’m like a model and you’re the press and I’m going to show you my walk.” Her daughter declares. Melarue chuckles as they begin to rearrange the room slightly to create a ‘runway’ for Ash. 

“You didn’t have to do this.” Kass whispers. 

“I know, but I wanted to.” They answer.

Kass frowns but then her daughter is strutting from her room and into the main room with her ‘model’ face on. Kass forces herself to smile and clap as Ash struts her stuff. Melarue has their phone out, pretending to be her paparazzi, telling her to pose and yes, that is perfect and beautiful. She is perfect and beautiful.

When Ash disappears in to her room again, Kass turns back to Melarue.

“You should have asked me if you could do this.” 

“She needed clothes -

“I am her  _mother_ , I will provide her with clothes, and food, and whatever she needs. I understand that you wanted to do something nice for her, but this…you should have asked.” 

Ash comes back out, they act as her paparazzi once again before she disappears into the room. Melarue turns to Kass, eyes serious.

“You’re right, I should have asked. But she was talking about how her feet hurt because her shoes are too small and that she doesn’t like telling you that because she knows you worry about money.”

Another outfit, more clapping.

“I do worry about money. But I budget, I knew about her shoes, I was going to get them next week.” She argues. Ash steps out in a particularly glittery dress and something in Kass’s stomach twists. 

What happens when Mel leaves? When she doesn’t have someone she can fall back on and she’s used to it? They have money, and that…makes everything easier but it makes this complicated. Ash is in love with the clothes and the jewelry and the hair and Kass is….

Worried. 

Her smile wavers as Ash continues to model. 

Melarue places a hand on Kass’s when Ash finishes her round. 

“I should have asked, you’re right.” They kiss her cheek. “I will ask and heed what you want in the future, she is your daughter, I overstepped.” They weave a hand into her hair and she sighs, closing her eyes briefly.

“Thank you. I know I sound crazy -

“My dear, you are protecting your daughter, that is not crazy.” They are firm but kind, and she wonders why she still wants to keep them some distance from herself. They are wonderful to her. Kind, patient, loving. 

Kass leans over and presses her lips to theirs. 

“Thank you for understanding.”

A couple weeks pass and life returns to normal. Kass and Ash spend the weekends at Melarue’s, and Melarue stays at Kass and Ash’s when they can during the week. 

On the second Friday, Melarue declares that they wish to go out to dinner and that they should all get ready at their house. They’re up to something, Kass knows, but they’re like that, always moving and scheming in someway that usually has all of them happy in some way. Still, she is not expecting what is waiting for her at their house.

They’re in one of their dressing robes when Kass and Ash enter the house. They glide over to Ash and kiss one of her budding horns before kissing Kass on the mouth, lifting themselves up on their toes. 

“I have surprises for you,” they purr before taking Ash’s hand and leading her excitedly to her room. They throw open her door and there, draped on her bed is a beautiful off the runway gown in her size. 

Ash gasps and squeals in delight, throwing her arms around Melarue in delight before running over to the dress.

Kass grips the door knob and forces herself to smile.

“It’s beautiful, baby,” she says. Her stomach twists and she resist the urge to grab her daughter and go. Melarue is wealthy, and Ash has gotten comfortable with it. Kass…has gotten comfortable with it in a way. Lounging in their custom made bed with the thousand thread count satin sheets, and the designer decor and fashion. The ease of walking into a four star restaurant and not having to worry. Even the way Melarue looks decorated in their gems and finery.

She’s gotten used to it. 

She feels her hand begin to shake. She releases the door knob and takes a deep breath, trying to calm and hide herself. 

Mel turns to her, their smile turning into a concerned firm line.

“Kass?”

“You’ll look stunning, Ashokara.” Her accent is thicker with her worry, but she continues to smile. 

“ _I will look so pretty!”_ She declares in Qunlat. Melarue rubs her back.

“ _You already are, Apple.”_ And then they walk over to Kass and cup her cheek. They pause, searching her face for something before taking her hand and leading her out into the hallway, clicking Ash’s door closed behind them. 

They walk into the guest room and leave the door partially open to listen for Ash.

“What is wrong?” They ask and she flinches. She doesn’t mean to, she really doesn’t, but their voice is sharp in a way, straight to the point. 

_What is wrong with you? She is Saarebas!_

She wrings her hands, worries her lip, and avoids their eyes. 

“Nothing -

“ _Kassaran,_ I ask because I care a great deal for you and I wish you to be happy. You’re not happy right now.”

No, she really isn’t.

_Kassaran! Don’t touch her!_

_“_ I…we’re getting too dependent.” She whispers.

_I am your husband. I pay these bills while you type away! Kassaran!_

Melarue’s concern turns into a full frown as they take a step forward. Kass takes a reflexive step back and mentally kicks herself. Their eyes widen slightly and their mouth forms a slight ‘o’ as they take a step back.

“You are one of the most independent people I know,” they say.

_We need to stick together, lone Tal-Vashoth die, remember?_

_“_ I…work very hard on that.” She takes a deep breath then takes a seat on the bed.

“I was dependent on him for so much, and then he hit her and I…it didn’t matter if I was dependent or not, I had to get her out. She would’ve died because of ridiculous prejudice left over from the Qun. But then those first few months I thought we would die because we had almost no money, no food. I sold  _everything_  and worked until I dropped to get us to where we are. I cannot… you’re so different and I want you but I…” she gestures, words failing her as her resolve shakes. 

_I’m your husband, Kassaran._

Melarue is quiet for a long moment before crossing to the bed and sinking to their knees in front of her.  They take her hands gently in theirs and look up at her.

“Everything I offer is without strings. Those clothes, that dress - all of it, that is hers. Not mine. It may have been my money but that is  _hers_  and I will  _never_  hold that over you. You are always free to go, no strings, no questions.”

_You can’t leave._

But…she can. She reaches down and cups Melarue’s face, feeling their soft skin and knowing that they are not him, and she is not that woman anymore. She can leave. But knowing and feeling are two different things.

“This will take time.” She says and they kiss her palm.

“Take as much as you need.” They lean up and kiss her mouth then, reassuring her with a deep kiss that has warmth shooting all the way down to her toes. 

The door slams open and Melarue breaks away from Kass and they both look over to see Ash…holding up a long glittering gold and teal gown. 

“ _Look, Mama! Mel got you a dress too! We match_!” She declares proudly as the unease flutters in Kass’s belly again. 

“You…got me a dress…”

“ _And there are matching earrings and a necklace!”_  Ash is practically bouncing now. Kass takes a deep breath as Melarue turns to her, not bashful but…aware.

“I wanted it to be a surprise, a gift.”

“Oh I’m surprised all right.” She murmurs, rising to pick the dress up. 

“ _Isn’t it beautiful! You’re going to look like a movie star! Like Mel!”_  Ashokara runs back over to Melarue, giving them another hug. 

Kass holds the dress, watching the shine of the fabric wave and move. Ash is right, she’ll look like a movie star - the partner that Melarue wants. 

No, she has to stop this. She needs….

Melarue’s hands take the dress from her, setting it down over a nearby chair. 

“What you’re wearing is perfect, just like you,” they say before reaching up to kiss her again. This is what she needs, she thinks, to not be blinded their life and their life, but to be connected to them. Just them. 

Ash is absorbed with her image in the floor length mirror, still twirling, mesmerized.

Kass pulls back and sighs, looking over at the dress, wondering if she should wear it.

“You are wonderful, my dear. And you deserve the world,” they tell her.

“So you buy me things.”

“Because I have more money than I know what to do with. And because I want to treat you like the queen you are.” 

Something in her…shifts and she moves forward, wrapping her darling Mel in a hug. She nuzzles the side of their face, kissing their ear. 

“Thank you. But maybe…baby steps? I…think I want to get used to this. I just….”

“Not to worry, Kassaran, I understand. Take all the time you need.” They kiss her again and go get ready.

She wears the diamond necklace that night. A step, and by the end of the night, it doesn’t even feel that heavy.

 

~

 

“Melarue?” Ash asks while her mother is getting ready. They look down at Ash, already in their makeup, looking very fancy. 

“Yes, Apple?” 

She pauses before reaching for their hand, not to hold but to look at, “You’re a mage, right? You have magic?”

They smile, “Yes, I am and I do.”

She’s quiet again for a moment, brow furrowing in thought, “My father said that because I have magic and there isn’t the Qun to bind me, that a demon is going to possess me. He said it was only a matter of time.” Her voice is soft and it hurts to talk about it, but…it hurts more to not talk about it. 

“Mama says that’s not true, but she’s not a mage, and you are, and I….” she trails off, unsure even what she’s feeling. But she knows she’s feeling  _something_  and she needs…something.

Melarue is quiet for a moment before dropping down so that she can look them in the eyes. They cup her face and look exceptionally serious.

“Your Mama is right - it is not inevitable. Most mages do not become possessed. And if demons are bothering you, in your dreams, remember that the only way that they can possess you is if you say yes to them. They need your permission.” Their voice is low and calm and she listens very closely. It isn’t inevitable. She won’t….she won’t become a monster like her father said. She isn’t the monster her father said she is. 

“So…if I say no, they can’t get inside me?” She whispers. Melarue smiles softly and kisses her forehead.

“That’s right.”

Ash nods her head and leans forward, wrapping her arms around them. Her father was wrong. She knew he was wrong in a way but…Melarue is nice. They help. 

They wrap their own long limbs around her and hold her close for as long as she wants, which is a while. Her father was not…he…. It hurt, he made her hurt. Melarue doesn’t hurt her, they buy her dresses and hug her and call her Apple. They tell her her magic is beautiful and her horns are beautiful too. They don’t hurt Mama either. 

They’re still wrapped in a hug when Mama strides out from her bedroom, still attaching one of the new earrings Melarue got her. 

“Oh this is so cute! Let me get the camera!” 

“Mama!” Ash protests. Why does her Mama have to take pictures of  _everything_! It’s so embarrassing.

“One picture, Apple, for me?” Melarue asks and she stills, looking up at them. They want to have a picture with her? She blinks, she hadn’t really considered it before. 

“You like me?” She asks and they chuckle, pulling back to kiss her forehead again.

“Of course I like you, you’re my darling Apple.” 

She smiles, “I like you too, Mel.” And she hugs them again just as her mama takes the picture.

 

~

 

Her Mama says that her name is beautiful, and the way she pronounces it, Ashokara almost believes it. The kids at school trip over it, sometimes purposefully because it’s funny. Almost as funny as tugging on her still nubby horns. They ask her what’s taking them so long to get big and pointy. They don’t understand that it takes time, that they only started growing about two years ago. 

She asks everyone to call her Ash, because it’s easier, and because it’s kinda funny. If she focuses and tries really hard, she can make fire, and fire makes ash, right? So she’s Ash. But the kids say she’s Ash because of her skin. 

She doesn’t like them, she thinks. They’ve never seen a Vashoth before, they call her Qunari. 

But the Qunari call her that word that Mama says is bad. So Ash just calls it the S-word and moves on. Her father called her it once, and Mama had been so mad. She hasn’t seen her father since then. 

It’s been three years. 

For the first two years, her and Mama were alone and that was okay but it was lonely. Mama has to work late sometimes, writing on her old computer and sometimes on scratch pieces of paper when the power goes out. 

The apartment they moved into wasn’t that nice, it was small and smelled like weird food and if she squinted she could see black stuff up in the corners, right by the cracks in the ceiling. But it didn’t have her father, it was just her and Mama, on a little adventure Mama said. Always on a little adventure. 

Last summer the adventure got really interesting, though. That was the summer when Mama got asked to tour Nevarra for her new book “My Magic and Me”. Four cities, three weeks, a nice little vacation her Mama said. 

While in the second city, Mama met someone. They didn’t have horns, but they were tall, but so…skinny. She offered some of her snack because Mama says that that’s the nice thing to do when you think someone’s hungry. They weren’t hungry but they took her little dried apple slices. 

They had asked where her Mama was, and they actually said it right. None of the kids at school knew how to say Mama right, they all said “Momma” not “Ma-ma”. But they said it right, and that was nice.

And they are very pretty, she thought, they looked like one of the people in the magazines she likes to read when her Mama grocery shops. 

They took her to her Mama after that and then something happened, but Ash isn’t quite sure what. She knows  _something_  happened, because it’s a year later and they’re picking her up from the bus. 

Their name is Mel. And they love Mama very much, Ash knows. Because they asked Mama to move in with them, and Mama must love them very much too, because she said yes. Ash likes their new home much better.

It’s an actual house! With a yard and everything! And while the kids at school still don’t quite understand, she likes the house much better than the small apartment. The power doesn’t go out, the water is always warm, and it doesn’t smell like weird food or feet. 

The bus comes to a stop and Ash slides off the seat and follows three of the other kids off, two more behind her. She hops off the bus and looks up at Mel. A big smile spreads across their face as they lean down and kiss her cheek.

“There’s my little Apple.” Ash smiles at that and takes their hand, leaning a bit into their soft coat because it is very nice, and very pretty. 

They ask her about her day and she tells them about how they’re learning about the water cycle and reading a book that a friend of her Mama’s wrote. She asks for a story when they get home because they tell the most amazing stories, but they click their tongue and say that it’s time to do homework. 

She groans, she doesn’t like homework, homework is  _boring._ But she sits down and pulls out her math journal. They help her with the more difficult problems and then helps her with her reading too. They finally finish by the time Mama gets home. She kisses Ash’s cheek and then Mel’s mouth. Little words that Ash doesn’t know slip between them and she wonders if it’s a grown-up thing. 

Mama starts making dinner and Mel finally relents and agrees to tell her a story. But then their phone rings and when they check the caller ID, they say she can watch TV now and they’ll tell her a story later. Which is pretty good, really, so Ash runs into the living room and turns on “Orlais’s Next Top Model.” 

Mel’s on the phone the entire time before dinner and Mama has to ask them if they need to eat a little later, but they shake their head.

“No, it’s alright. Yes, Aelytnhi…mhm. Okay, da’len, I love you, buh-bye.” They hang up and take their usual seat. Ash cocks her head to the side. Aelynthi. She knows the name by now, that’s Mel’s son - he’s a lot older than Ash, but he’s a mage too and he has a daughter that’s older than her. She hasn’t met him or his daughter yet because they live in Arlathan and are very busy, but Mel promises that she’ll meet them soon - hopefully over winter break. 

She looks down at her green beans, then back up at Mel.

“Mel?” She asks.

“Yes, da’len?” They ask, their voice always sounds just a bit different after talking to Aelynthi, like their teeth moved a bit more forward. 

“What does Aelynthi call you?” She doesn’t think he calls them ‘Mel’, they’re…his parent, children don’t call their parents by their names…do they? Do elves do that? She isn’t sure.

“He calls me ‘Nanae.’” 

“Oh.” She is quiet for a moment, and thinks. She thinks that is a very pretty word, it sounds very nice the way they say it, and she wonders what it sounds like if she says it.

“Na-nae.” She tries. They pause and smile small at her.

“Yes, like that. Nanae.” 

She blinks again, she likes the word, and she likes them too, she thinks.

“Can I call you that too?” 

They pause and their face goes soft and serious all at once. They scooch their chair closer and cup her face gently.

“Yes, da’vhenan, you can.” And they kiss her cheek again before wrapping her in a tight hug. Which is good, because Me- Nanae gives wonderful hugs. 

 

~

 

They’ve been together for a year and a half when Melarue comes home from filming one day and proclaims that they would like to visit their son and granddaughter in Arlathan soon. 

And they want to bring Kass and Ash with them. 

Kass’s eyes widen slightly and she feels….conflicted. She would love to see Arlathan, she is sure she would be able to write at least a dozen little story ideas just from the trip itself, and she wants to expose Ash to different cultures. But this is  _Aelynthi_  and  _Olwyn -_ Melarue’s darling  _other_  family. 

It’s not like Kass is resentful, she isn’t. She had a life before Melarue as well - a husband and everything, who left the Qun with her only to regret his choice years later when he became responsible for a Sa- a mage. 

But Aelynthi and Olwyn are special. Aelynthi is Melarue’s baby, and him being in his thirties and having a child of his own doesn’t change that. They love him, and his daughter by extension. Kass and Ash are…new. And what if Aelynthi and Olwyn do not like them? Kass cannot imagine that would go over well with Melarue, who…who Kass loves very much. She doesn’t wish to part from them.

Their hands slide up her back, nails dragging just slightly against her as they brush their nose against the base of their neck. 

“If you do not wish to, I can go alone.” They murmur. But this…this means the world to them, she knows. Having their family all together, Kass and Ash and Aelynthi and Olwyn. And…it is better to face this now then make it potentially worse in the future, she knows. 

She turns from the stove and cups her love’s face, pressing gentle kisses to their mouth. It’s always  _supposed_  to be just one, but really, she can never have just one. 

“No, we will be there.” She kisses them again, “All together.” They smile before kissing her back, deepening it and rubbing their tongue against her lips. 

“Nanaaaae, these multiplication tables don’t make any sense.” Ash complains from the doorway. Melarue sighs and pulls away, winking at Kass before the turn to go help Ash with her homework. Feeling a little inspired and perhaps the tiniest bit naughty, Kass leans forward and gives a gentle but little pat to Melarue’s backside as they walk away. They turn around lightning quick and she looks around, feinting confusion and innocence. 

They smirk and wink at her before following Ash completely into the dining room. A flush spreads through Kass, she knows what  _that_  look is. Another wonderful thing about her new lover - their sheer proficiency is…well. She has never felt like this before, that is for certain. 

She finishes making dinner and gets Ash into bed by a respectable 8:30. Mel pulls her to the couch for a nice bit of cuddling and making sure she stays asleep before ushering her into the bedroom and having their wonderfully wicked way with her. 

The trip to Arlathan is scheduled the next day for Ash’s winter break. They call Aelynthi and inform him of the trip and they tell her that their house will be prepared for them. 

Their other house. There are moments where their wealth blindsides her, even now, and while she  _knows_  they have other houses, they even vacationed at one of their abodes on the Antivan coast last summer. But the nonchalance of it, ‘The house will be prepared’ just…oozes a level of wealth that for the longest time Kass never though she would only ever see on her outdated TV. What’s more is that they’ll be flying in on their private jet. They don’t even need to procure tickets, just…zoom on over. 

Kass shakes her head, smiling in disbelief at it as she opens the door to their home. 

Music echoes through the space and she walks into the living room to find Ash and Mel dancing along to the latest version of Dance Dance Revolution. She laughs and when Ash waves at her, she jumps in, twisting in and around them both. 

They end up ordering pizza that night, crashed on the floor as they turn on one of Ash’s favorite cartoons that Mel and Kass also like.

The weeks seem to fly by after that, days spent at her small private office in the back of a used bookstore, nights spent with Ash and even later nights spent with Melarue’s wandering hands and love. 

Before she knows it, they’re at the airport, some uniformed man that apparently is employed by her lover taking away Kass and Ash’s luggage. Mel has their face slightly changed from their usual, though they mostly rely on the gigantic sunglasses and hat they’re wearing. 

“You look like a spy,” Ash observes and they arch a brow in teasing at her.

“Maybe I am.” 

She pauses for a moment before snorting, smoke fluttering out of her nose briefly, and shaking her head, “You’re so crazy, Nanae.” They grin before bending down to her.

“Crazy for my little apple!” And they pick her up and spin her around before carting her up into the private jet, Ash laughing and squealing the entire way. Kass just shakes her head, Mel’s…strong, a little odd for such a lanky elf but they’re a mage, it’s probably some magic thing she doesn’t understand. Whatever the reason, they’re always gentle, so it isn’t an issue. 

When she steps inside, Mel has an around Ash and is already having her play on their tablet to distract her from the fact that they’re going to be taking off very soon. She sits by her daughter and pets her hair before leaning over her and pressing a kiss to her love’s cheek. 

Fifteen minutes later and the engines begin to whir and Ashokara begins to fidget and worry.

“I don’t like this.” 

“It’s okay, baby, we got you,” Kass murmurs, shifting slightly so that Ash is pressed up against her. Melarue takes up stroking her hair and humming a little song that Ash likes. The engines whir louder and the plane lurches forward and begins its run down the ramp. Ash whimpers and buries herself closer into Kass. 

By the time they’re in the air, Ash has climbed into Kass’s lap and Melarue has taken to rubbing their hand against her back. When they finally reach altitude, Ash starts to calm down enough to sit between them. Melarue kisses her temple and distracts her once again with the tablet and the blessedly pre-downloaded “The Little Mermaid.” 

While Ash is distracted with that, Kass and Melarue talk. flitting from serious topics to more light hearted ones. She doesn’t tell them about her nervousness about meeting Aelynthi and his daughter, though, but she knows they suspect something.

Four hours and several movies and games later, they arrive in Arlathan. A car and driver are waiting for them and they are quickly ushered to a surprisingly quiet neighborhood just outside of the city. Ash is curled up against Kass, sleeping, while Kass looks out the window, surprised.

“You live here?” Kass asks dryly. They smile lasciviously at her.

“And where else did you picture me?”

At that, Kass shrugs demurely, “I can think of a few things.” They chuckle at her, a hand running up her thigh, carefully avoiding Ash’s sleeping form. 

The driveway they pull into is gated, of course, and long, lined with beautiful old trees that are still green. Oh how she missed the warmer climes. 

Perhaps, she thinks, if…if this meeting goes well, they could discuss moving here. It is a lovely place, and Arlathan is so much more accepting of mages. But Vashoth are still…not exactly welcomed or common here. And perhaps Melarue doesn’t want their two families mixing all that much. 

Kass looks over at them, so beautiful and kind and wonderful to not just her, but her daughter as well.

“Melarue?” She whispers. Their silver eyes reflect the light from the house for a moment before they soften and they smile.

“Yes, vhenan?”

“I love you,” and she leans over to kiss them. And she does, she loves them so very much. They sigh into her mouth, whispering their own affections back. 

The car stops then and they all load out of the car. Kass picks Ash up and holds her close as Melarue shows her where Ash’s room is, already decorated in her favored purples. Kass kisses her daughter goodnight, wishing her sweet dreams as Melarue checks their wards around the room. They draw a few new ones, before kissing Ash goodnight as well. By then, all of their luggage has been brought in, and due to the late hour, they’re left to stow them as is appropriate. It takes about twenty minutes before they’re done, and even with the later hour, she is awake and craving to get the feeling of travel off of her. 

Mel comes up behind her and kisses her neck, hands wandering over her back to her waist to hips.

“There is a rather large bathtub in the master bath, if you would like,” they murmur and she hums. Yes, a bath sounds wonderful.

“Will you join me?”

“Of course.” Their hand slips under her shirt and trails up to cup and gently tease at a breast. She leans against them carefully, angling her head to make sure her horns don’t maim them. 

It takes them a few more minutes to actually make it to the tub, and then another few minutes for the water to warm. Mel tosses in some weird sphere into the tub and suddenly colorful bubbles start to emerge, glittering and shining and popping in shimmering displays. 

“Is that…actual gold?” 

They grin and nip at her earlobe, hands roaming over her newly naked body. 

“Do you like it?” 

She pulls away to look at them, naked and beautiful, and at the golden bubbles.

“It does not come close to the beauty of my love,” she waxes. They chuckle at her sappiness but don’t comment as they pull her down for another long kiss. 

Kass sighs when she finally sinks into the warm water, letting it begin to cleanse all the travel grossness away. Mel sinks in on the other end, their feet ending up by her hips. The tub is  _huge_  which she is immensely grateful for, there are so few bath tubs that accommodate Qunari sizes -

“Is this tub new?” She whispers, running a hand along the porcelain.

“Yes, do you like it?” 

She turns to them and crawls forward until she’s leaning over them. 

“I love it. And I love you, and you know I’m not seeing you because of all of this, right? I’m here for you, even if you were poorer than I was,” she rests her forehead against theirs and they chuckle.

“Yes, Kassaran, I know. But the finer things are nice, you deserve finer than what you’ve had.” They run a hand down her cheek and neck, their brow coming together in serious curiosity.

“What is bothering you? Are you worried about Aelynthi?” 

Kass leans back and sighs, they’ll know a lie, she knows, so she opts for the truth, “I am concerned about what would happen if he does not like us. I will not become between you and your son, but I…do not want to part from you -

“Vhenan, that’s not going to happen,” their voice is calm and sure and she takes great comfort in it. 

They move to her, and take her cheek in their hand, “I love you, vhenan. And you love me as well, that is all that it takes.” They rest their forehead against hers before kissing her long and slow, heat having nothing to do with the water coiling deep inside her.

“Alright, I trust you…but if anything happens, I can be moved out by the end of the month -

They pull away, face fierce and intent, “Kassaran. The house is yours should anything happen, I’m not going to uproot you and that precious little girl. I have places to go. My son will not be an issue, I know this.” And then they set to actually begin washing her, rubbing their hands against her tired skin and body. She gasps and sighs and leans into them, still worrying but…mostly mollified. The lingering fears of having to run, of having to leave remain, but even if the worse is to come to pass, she will survive it, her child will survive it. 

Their lips kiss her neck and their hands move down her stomach, stroking the scar that gave her Ash fondly before sinking lower. A hum escapes her as they stroke and rub at her, eliciting gasps and moans.

“Good?”

“Yes,” she murmurs and they sink a finger into her, stirring her, rousing her. They rub and tease at her, nipping at her ears and neck, and it does not take long at all for her to come undone under their hands, tensing and releasing on a shuddering sigh. 

“Beautiful,” they whisper and resume washing her. Turning to her hair and horns, opening the horn balm and rubbing her horns down in deeply satisfying strokes. By the time they are finished, she feels completely and utterly relaxed and clean, and more than a just a bit naughty. 

She nips at their lips, still painted in a dark purple from the day. 

“Turn around?” She purrs and they comply with a smirk. Her hands roam over their body, washing and massaging in equal parts. 

“I love you body, almost as much as I love you,” she whispers, licking their ear. She cleans their hair first, though, massaging their scalp as she works the shampoo and then conditioner through their luscious hair. 

They purr at the attention and lean back onto her shoulder when she pulls back. Her hands then roam back over their body, teasing their nipples briefly before sinking down to their own heat. They moan low in their throat and draw her lips to theirs. Tongues twine and push as she sinks a finger, then two into them, pumping in and out, slipping out to draw purposeful circles. They shudder and their hips shift closer, closer, until they seize around her fingers and come on a long, low moan. 

She kisses their nose, and by the time they fall back in the gigantic, soft bed in the bedroom, her worries seem almost completely distant. 

 

~

 

Kass slides her key into the lock as Melarue’s hands rest on her hips. Their lips press a kiss between her shoulder blades and she shivers. She needs to unlock this door  _now_.

_Click._

The door opens and they practically fall in through the doorway as she turns to slant her mouth over theirs. They taste like sweetness and cream, left over from their dessert and all she can think is how she wants to make them her dessert. 

In an uncommon show of dominance, Kass directs them to the table by the wall. They gasp and give a small chuckle as they gently bump against the table. She leans into them, making them lean back as they try to elongate their body to accommodate their height difference. Their hands grip at her arms as she presses her body up against theirs.

Arousal coils hotly in her belly and she nips at their lips.

She presses a leg between theirs, rubbing up at the apex of their thighs tentatively. So they’re taking this shape tonight, mmmm, good. It’s been a while since she’s had the delight to….eat them up like this. 

And thankfully, their daughter is out with Aelynthi and his daughter, leaving them blessedly alone tonight. They don’t even need to move to a more decent place for this, which is good because the last thing she wants right now is to step away from them. 

Her hands roam over the front of them, caressing and gently groping until they reach the top of their pants. She nips at their lips before moving her kiss up to their ear, sucking on their lobe. Her hand slides into their pants, bypassing the thin scrap of lace that barely counts as underwear. She hums her pleasure at finding their already building wetness and they in turn give a soft gasp. Her fingers begin to work them in slow circles, only ever so slightly increasing the pressure. They press eagerly into her hand, fingernails digging into her arms. 

“You’re to the point tonight,” their quip morphs into a low moan as she presses a finger gently into them, thumb still rubbing circles against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Do you want me to stop?” She asks, halting her actions for a moment.

“No,” they answer quickly, pressing insistingly against her again. She chuckles and resumes touching them, rubbing and thrusting shallowly into them until her patience runs thin. 

Kass nips at the tip of their ear before kissing their lips again. She flicks her tongue against their lips.

“Mmm,” she purrs, removing her hand from their pants to bring to her mouth. Their eyes flicker open and watch as she licks her fingers clean. 

“Mmm,” she moans again and a shiver runs through them. She grins. Perfect. 

She sinks slowly to her knees, trailing kisses over their clothes until she’s at the top of their pants. Slowly she tugs the pants over their hips and down to the floor, lifting each foot to remove the garment completely revealing beautiful, toned legs that she knows are so sensitive and lovely to kiss. 

She trails her nails up the outsides of their legs while moving to kiss her way up from their right calf. They taste faintly of the lotion they applied hours ago, but isn’t unpleasant as she arrives at their knee. She places a warm, affectionate kiss to their knee, eliciting a gasp and shiver from Melarue. 

“Kassaran,” they breathe and she flicks her gaze up to theirs. 

“Melarue,” she replies before pressing another kiss to their knee. She will love them and their body for the rest of days if they’ll allow it, and she will kiss their legs and knees if only to show how she does this from love and affection, not just carnal use. 

She murmurs praises and words of affections in qunlat against their skin, pressing the words into their flesh with her lips and tongue as she moves back up to the top of their thigh. 

“Vhenan,” they whisper and she revels in it. She loves hearing them call her that, and she loves that she can get this reaction from them. It’s…such a private reaction, and it thrills her. 

She kisses their hip before moving to kiss the thin lace covering them. She moves to press another kiss more directly to their covered folds, pressing up into them, only to move away and begin kissing their other leg.

They make a low sound of frustration that quickly turns into a moan when she returns her fingers to their heat as she kisses their leg. They push against her and she gives in, pressing back up in quick, small circles that has their hips canting and a soft moan leaving their lips. She dips into them, feeling sudden wetness and grins. 

Good. 

Unable to resist any longer, Kass turns her attention to their sex. She mouths at them through the fabric,  pressing the lace against them with her tongue while she works a finger into them. 

Their weight comes forward slightly, but she expects his and moves herself so that their right leg is draped over her shoulder. The angle shifts so that her mouth is pressed more firmly against them. Now impatient with the desire to taste them, she shoves the thin fabric to the side and slides her tongue up against their folds. 

They moan and grind gently against her mouth in a desperate bid for more friction. They’re salty sweet, wet, hot, and she laps greedily at them, sucking and flicking her tongue, running fingers against them as she coaxes another orgasm from them.

They shudder and groan as they seize around her fingers and tongue. She hums again, moving to nuzzle at their hip as they come down from their high. 

“That was beautiful,” she compliments, placing another kiss at their hip, “you’re so beautiful.” Her voice is full of awe and sincerity and they place a hand on her cheek, guiding her gaze up to theirs.

“And that was…perfect,” they say just a tad breathlessly. She smiles up at them before placing one last kiss to their abdomen. 

“I love you,” she whispers. Their expression softens and they stroke her cheek with their thumb.

“I love you, too.” They are soft and loving in that moment, so wonderfully them with nothing barred and it makes her grateful that she’s already on her knees. Not that let her stay on her knees for long, however. 

They tug her up to standing and begin to lead her to the bedroom.

“And I believe it is your turn,” they say lasciviously, silver eyes gleaming with wicked intent. Kass blushes but follow them all the same. 

They don’t make it past the couch.

 

~

 

Kass walks out of the office, stunned. Did…did that really just happen? After years of preparation and planning and writing and rewriting and even waffling whether or not to do this and then being rejected by the first three publishers and….

She got the contract? The  _entire_  contract? 

Five books, just as she wanted to write them. Not just a novel - but a series. 

A young adult urban fantasy series featuring a Vashoth girl as the protagonist. And it’s going to actually be published and not just lurking around in her head. 

She walks to her car in a daze. They didn’t turn her away? She slides into her car and switches it on before slumping against the seat. Wow. 

The shock then gives way to unabashed joy and excitement. 

She got the contract!

Her phone is in her hand immediately, dialing. It rings three times before a smooth voice answers.

“Hello darling.”

“I got it!” She blurts into the receiver. 

“The contract for the books, I mean! They’re going to publish it!” She practically squeals.

“That’s wonderful, darling!” They exclaim in their excited but still at work voice. 

“We’re celebrating. Your choice of restaurant, my treat.” 

“No new jewelry!” She says quickly. She already has so much, she doesn’t even know what to do with it at this point. 

“I make no such promises.” They scoff but she just shakes her head. 

“Fine…sapphires, then.” She teases and they chuckle. 

“Anything for you.” Their voice is softer, quieter, almost taking a more private tone, but they’re working today and the likelihood of someone overhearing is high. It’s the one time that Kass almost wishes they were public so they didn’t have to worry about this.

But privacy grants protection for her -  _their_  - daughter, and for that, Kass would pay any price.

“What about that little place with all the twinkle lights on Riverside?” She suggests, thinking she wants something Tevene in style and taste.

“I’ll have the reservation made.” There is a pause, before they return, whispering,

“ _I love you,”_ in Qunlat. Kass smiles softly as warmth spread throughout her. 

“I love you too, Kadan.”

 

~

 

Ash pulls up on the shirt again. It doesn’t budge. She pulls  _again_. Nothing. 

This…is not good. It’s hot and uncomfortable and her fingers are beginning to tingle slightly from the weird angle her shirt has pushed her arms up into. She can’t see and slowly she feels the world get the tiniest bit more alarming as she remains stuck.

Stuck in her shirt.

T-shirts are  _not_  made for Vashoth, apparently. Er, Vashoth with  _horns_  to get the cloth stuck on. 

The true difficulty lies in that her mama isn’t home and available to help free her from the confines of too tight cotton. But her nanae is. 

“Nanae?” She calls tentatively, softly at first. She walks out of her room carefully.

“Nanae?” She says a bit louder. There’s some shifting upstairs and then she hears the quick, soft footfalls of her parent descending down the stairs.

“Everything alright, Apple?” 

“Uh, not exactly?” She doesn’t really know what to say about the situation without making her feel more embarrassed than she already is. But then her nanae enters the laundry room and they stop.

“Oh.”

“Can you help?” This is pitiful, she thinks. Trapped in her clothes because of her horns.

But her nanae moves quickly, murmuring little reassurances to her as they set about freeing her. 

They pull. They adjust. They get her to wiggle.

The damn shirt isn’t budging.

“I’m sorry Apple, I’m going to have to cut it. I’ll get you a new shirt, okay? One that doesn’t get caught on your horns.” They give her a reassuring pat and leave to get the scissors. 

Ash sighs. This is the fourth shirt she’s needed to be cut out of because of her horns. She’s beginning to think that perhaps it would be better to just ask for a new wardrobe to accommodate her almost fully grown horns. 

Nanae returns with the scissors and quickly cuts her out of the garment. Her arms come down and she takes a deep, grateful breath of air. 

“Thank you!” she exclaims but frowns at the shirt. 

“I’m tired of my horns not fitting in clothes,” Ash sighs. Nanae places the ruined shirt behind them and cups her face.

“The problem are not your horns but the clothes. We can fix that, easy. If companies won’t dress with your horns in mind, we won’t buy from them, darling.” They kiss each horn then her forehead and she smiles. 

Her horns aren’t the problem, the clothes are.

 

~

 

Kass does most of the grocery shopping when Melarue’s home, just because she actually likes to save money and not buy all of the name brand stuff (generic is just as good, spending that much money for same quality is just ridiculous, no matter how rich you are). When they’re away filming, she takes up all of the shopping naturally. Ash helps her, a little runner to aisles, bringing back small items like breadcrumbs, seasoning, a bag of candy - hey, wait a minute.

“You already picked your dessert for the week,” Kass reminds her and Ash sighs.

“Oookay.” Ash heads back to the candy aisle and puts it away while Kass takes stock. She’s got the beef, the chicken, the pork…oooh maybe she should get some fish, her love likes fish and it’s been a while since she’s made a good tuna steak. 

Grocery shopping is one of those things that only requires about half your attention, mostly it’s just grabbing things you recognize, inspecting eggs, fruits, vegetables. She does a lot of it on auto-pilot these days because Ash is getting more independent in her tweenaged years. 

The auto-pilot is nice when Melarue isn’t around. 

But then again, there are opportunities that arise when Melarue isn’t around. Opportunities like being able to read trashy gossip magazines again without feeling weird about it. 

She grabs three different magazines off the rack at the check out and Ash makes a face.

“Nanae says they’re all lies made up to get the masses in a tizzy and distract them from the corruption of politicians.” 

Kass chuckles as she continues to load the groceries onto the conveyor. Melarue would say that, anything to discourage Ash from ever picking up one of those magazines and accidentally believing that her nanae is sleeping with men half their age.

Excuse that magazine, but Melarue is only sleeping with  _one_  person half their age, thankyouverymuch, and she is no man. 

“Listen to your nanae, they are very knowledgeable in these things.”

“So why are you reading them?”

Kass pauses and looks at the glossy, most likely photoshopped covers and sighs.

“Because…they’re like stories to me, these outrageous stories and it’s fun to read them as stories and not as real life.”

Ash pauses and her brow furrows behind her glasses as she looks back the magazines.

“They’re all about Nanae, though.”

Yes, well, nobody’s perfect. Luckily Kass is drawn into paying and putting the bags into the cart and then having an awkward conversation with the bag boy as he helps her out to her car. Ash seems content to let the issue drop however when Kass lets her listen to her music for a change. Ash bops and sings along as Kass drives and thinks about a time when she read about Melarue far more than touching them. Living with them. Loving them. 

She usually enjoyed their movies, and anyone can see they’re beautiful. She liked their mystery in the tabloids, she thinks. How despite being one of the hottest stars in Thedas, they always seemed to elude the paparazzi, sporadically showing up looking more and fabulous each time. 

The press had yet to find an unflattering picture of them. Oooh if they could get a hold of Kass’s phone - not that she has unflattering pictures. Quite the contrary! Her phone’s full of Melarue doing  _cute_  things, like sleeping, or eating a particularly large piece of sushi, doing Ash’s hair, trying on one of Kass’s robes and drowning in it. And her favorite - them laughing at one of the Feast Day parties they’ve attended. They’re leaning over the table a bit, laughing at something one of the younger children did. She can see all the little wrinkles in their face in that photo, all mushed up into a truly carefree and happy moment. 

She loves it. Loves them.

The rest of the day passes in a routine blur. They got home, put the groceries away, the kids down the street ask if Ash can play soccer and she goes out with them while Kass works on dinner. Around six, she calls Ash back inside and they eat a nice meal and talk about the kids down the street, school, and typical mother-daughter things. After dinner, Ash helps wash and put away the dishes.

They settle in for a little mother-daughter movie time, queuing up an old favorite  _Lilo & Stitch_ while Ash nibbles on her dessert and Kass drabbles away in her notebook. 

Around ten, she has Ash head to bed and she herself retires to her bedroom. The space is large and luxurious, the spacious bed covered in silks that Kass likes to keep because they remind her of Melarue. She runs a hand over their pillow before she walks into the bathroom and does her nightly routine of undressing, removing what little makeup she wears, and applying a face mask. 

Hm, the face mask needs to sit for a bit, and normally she just sits and talks with Melarue since they like the face masks too, but they’re not here…

But she has those magazines. Kass hurries back out into the kitchen and takes the bag back into the bedroom, curling up in the bed with her face mask and magazines. Her horrible, trashy magazines. 

She giggles as she opens the first one up. 

It mostly talks about other celebrities and their various made up dramas of love children, affairs, and weight gain or loss horror stories. Melarue is featured in the “Fab or Drab” section, landing firmly in the Fab section of course, though Kass narrows her eyes when she spots the phrase “despite their age.” What exactly is that supposed to mean? Melarue is gorgeous regardless of their age, and even if they are sporting wrinkles in the picture, they’re beautiful wrinkles that show a good, full life. 

Fuck that magazine and it’s ageism.

She moves onto the next one. Melarue is featured as one of the most iconic movie stars of the time, though it’s one of those ranking lists and not an actual substantial interview that non-trash mags tend to do.

The third one is a  _gold mine_. Melarue is everywhere in it, from red carpet events to paparazzi snagged photos that are meant to be body shaming but they only show how flawless Melarue truly is. 

But the best part about the third one are the rumors. Oh the rumors are  _awful._ Her lover apparently has a love child with a dwarven women from Orzammar who swears that her son looks just like Melarue. Shock of all shocks, he really doesn’t. 

And then there is the rumor that they’re dating their young co-star Max Trevaine. There are several photos of them together, one at a restaurant and grabbing lunch, one out and generally about. One where Melarue is gripping his jacket in a way that if you didn’t know Melarue may suggest something salacious but really in all likelihood, they were trying to drag him away from the press to preserve what little dignity the poor soul still had.

The writer speculates wildly on their new extravagant affair, comparing it to past affairs that were a bit obvious and others that were only revealed by chance or lie. In this one, the writer believes that Melarue is actually serious since they’re not spoiling him like they do their other partners. What an odd analysis, Melarue  _likes_  buying things for people, spoiling them. If they’re not spoiling him, Kass would be more willing to bet that they are not that impressed with him. 

But he does make a good distraction for the press to not pry into Melarue’s actual love life. Ash doesn’t need to worry about the paparazzi, and Melarue understands that completely. And Kass understands that they have to put up appearances. 

They lie, but it’s for good reasons. For her, for Ash.

She trusts their lies which…sounds odd but it really isn’t. She trusts that they will lie to be good but she also trusts that they will not lie to be malicious to her or their daughter. A little deception is necessary to maintain their lives and she is very okay with it. 

She’s halfway through the article when there’s a sound at the other end of the house. She frowns. That is not supposed to happen…especially with the runes Melarue covers the house in every time they leave for any amount of time. And Melarue isn’t supposed to be home until tomorrow. 

Hm.

Kass gets out of bed slowly and goes to the closet, pulling the enchanted bat they keep there. Guns are unreliable with magical home violators, magical bats, though, break everyone’s legs. 

She inches out of the bedroom and heads down the hallway carefully, bat raised as she scans the area. 

She must be quite the sight, she thinks, in her robe and face mask, hair pulled back into a bonnet and horns wrapped in their balm already, bat raised. She’s turned into that suburban housewife, she realizes, and she nearly drops the bat right there to have an existential crisis, but then there’s a another noise, a creek in the floorboards. Her resolve hardens and she steels herself. There is a sleeping twelve-year-old in this house, she does not need to be set upon by some evil predator here to do harm. Her baby’s been through enough in her childhood already.

Kass moves into the main living area, sticking close to the wall as the lights in the kitchen flick on. What, does the evil doer want snacks or something? Oh what if they’re not an evil doer but a hungry kid? 

But no, a kid couldn’t break into here…could they? Out of all the magic she read up on, wards made the least bit of sense to her. Their patterns and how they recognized people allowed to pass through them. 

Gah! Focus. 

She takes a deep breath and sojourns forth into the kitchen. She sneaks into the room with the raised bat, poised to strike when she realizes that before her is a very familiar figure. 

Oh. Well. This is embarrassing.

She lowers the bat as Melarue turns to her, pouring themselves a healthy glass of wine.

“As welcoming as ever, Vhenan,” they tease and she drops the bat entirely as she walks quickly across the space to take their face in her hands. She kisses them deeply, careful of the wine in their hands. 

Oh Melarue, darling Melarue. Beautiful as ever. 

She kisses their lips and cheeks and eyes and nose, welcoming them home.

“I’ve missed you, love,” she says and they smile, chuckling softly.

“I’ve missed you as well,” they reply with a soft sincerity that has her melting just the tiniest bit. 

“So did I write the date down wrong or -

They grin and lean into slightly, “I switched my flight, I couldn’t wait another night to see you.” 

Her heart sputters and melts and a small giggle escapes her. 

“Oh in that case, I forgive you.”

They quirk at an eyebrow at her, “Forgive me?”

“For not telling me! I had this whole outfit and dinner planned! I went to that tailor you kept talking about -

The raise a finger up to her lips, “Vhenan, say no more. If you do, I will ask you to put it on and I am not nearly rested enough for the night that I am sure that garment will entail. And you can make your meal tomorrow. Tonight…all I want is you.” 

Her breath catches in her throat as a squeak leaves her. Their silver eyes are hooded and tired, the eyeliner visibly old, and yet in that moment they are so radiant to her. 

Kass smiles and leans back down, snagging another kiss, this one slow and loving. 

“Then you have me, always,” she whispers and they hum their appreciation before pressing against her again. 

She grabs their bottle of wine and another glass, finishing the bottle off before taking their free hand and leading them back to their room. 

Halfway there, though, her face begins to itch, and by the time they’re setting their glasses down to crawl into bed, she knows she needs to take the mask off. She sighs but then Melarue’s there, gently picking the mask off her face with their nails (claws). It feels weird, it always does, but good too, like her face is all clean and fresh. 

They smile as the last bit of the mask is peeled away.

“There you are,” they whisper before pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. Oh, yes, she’s missed this, missed them, so much. It’s been too long. 

“Seven weeks is such a long time,” she murmurs and they sigh against her.

“I know, that’s why I won’t be doing it again,” they say, pressing closer and closer to her, lips and nose and hands pressed against her already.

“Wh-what?” She gasps.

“They’ll work around my schedule, it is no trouble, Vhenan. And this way I won’t be away long.” Their hands slips into her robe, fingers caressing the sides of her breasts. 

She can’t help but smile, they don’t want to be away. They’re here, they want to come home to her. 

“I missed you, I want you,” she says, hands threading into their hair. 

“I’m here, Vhenan, I’m here,” they reply before guiding her completely to the bed, ridding her of the robe in the process. 

They’re not too tired, apparently, for some things.

  
~

 

She fidgets with the necklace for a month after acquiring it. Smooth in most places, though with a rather dramatic point at the end, with traditional carvings and fastenings, it wasn’t exactly easy to come by. She had to commission someone in secret and hiding any sort of secret from Melarue is nigh impossible. 

But Kass kept this close, she spoke of Qunari traditions and having to deal with it and being frustrated at the rituals in place for something she was having to deal with and that when she’s with them, she doesn’t really want to feel that stress. So they let it be. 

By the time Kass actually makes this decision, however, they’re in Arlathan for their yearly Winter Break visit. Last year’s inaugural visit had gone so splendidly that they had decided to try and spend as many breaks Ash’s schedule allowed for, here. 

The last year has been particularly busy for them all - Aelynthi and Victory adopted another little girl, Ash got moved up to advanced literature, Kass has been signed on to finally write the young adult series she has been planning for the last five years, and Melarue was given a role in the break out television series,  _Game of Crowns_. It’s a more stable job, and they managed to land a part where filming occurs only an hour away from their house. Everything seems to have shifted so positively and Kass wants to celebrate it. 

By apparently invariably tying herself even closer to them. 

It’s nerve wracking, really, holding that necklace in the her palm while Melarue gets ready in their dressing room. Her palms are sweaty and her foot twitches nervously against the cool tile of the bathroom floor. She’s still in a robe that she shamelessly stole because it smelled like their favorite perfume. It’s entirely too short, but she loves it all the same. 

“Alright, vhenan, are you ready to -

Kass quickly stands up and shoves the hand holding the necklace behind her in a futile attempt to hide that she has something as Melarue strides into the bathroom. There is a pause before they arch a brow at her and try to glance behind her back.

“What do you have there?” They purr and she nibbles at her lip. This…is not how this is supposed to go. They’re supposed to be at dinner, and then they’re supposed to be at dessert, and then they’re supposed to be home alone (because Ash is sleeping over with Olwyn and Lasair tonight, thank you Aelynthi), stripping each other naked, and then she would produce the necklace from the folds of her dress with lovely prepared soft words and one in particular. Instead, she’s in her stolen dressing robe, hair pulled up into a fancier than usual style, but face bereft of makeup while a completely ready Melarue watches her with that guarded expression they fall into when something they didn’t anticipate happening is about to happen. 

And of course they’re  _stunning_ , so much so that if people aren’t careful, they’ll break their necks in an attempt to get a second look, and while Kass isn’t unattractive, her beauty is certainly a more…humble, subtle sort. 

She fidgets with the necklace and they watch her closely. Well. She guesses she’s doing this. 

She pulls her hand to the front of her body, the pendant is a large, impossible to hide in any way, with pristine carvings, and the tooth has been polished to a pearly white. 

Melarue sucks in a small breath, and she knows that they know what this is.

“I wanted to do this after dinner, but, well, things don’t always go according to plan.” She looks up at them and smiles.

“And that’s good, because if things had gone according to plan, I wouldn’t have met you and that…you were not according to plan, and you have been one of the best things to happen in my life. I love you and while I am Tal-Vashoth, there are…certain things about my old life that stay with me. My language, my daughter…and how I want to express what exactly you mean to me.” She steps forward and rests her forehead gently against theirs, taking their hands and wrapping the strands of the necklace around their hands.

“Kadan.” She whispers and they suck in another breath. They place a hand over her heart and lean into her, all of a sudden softer and so open.

“Vhenan.” They press a long, lingering kiss to her lips and she melts into them. Her kadan, their vhenan. 

She smiles and a small giggle leaves her, “I know it doesn’t match anything, -

“Don’t be absurd, it goes with everything. Dragon teeth are the new black.” They assure her quickly enough, untangling the necklace from around their hands to drape across their neck. It…doesn’t really go with the winding silver jewelry there, but really, who is going to contradict Melarue? And seeing it on them…she bends down and presses a gentle kiss to the hollow of their neck, then even lower to their breastbone, right where the pendant rests. 

Kass straightens and smiles lovingly at them and begins to speak in soft qunlat.

“ _Now we are each one half of a whole, and with this token know that wherever you go, I am there with you. And I know that wherever I go, you are with me. Kadan, home of my heart. Kadan, home of your heart.”_ It’s…something like a vow, she thinks, just something to say in the exchange as custom but Melarue stops for a second, their eyes fluttering closed as they sniffle.

“Melarue? Did…oh no, this was too soon wasn’t it? I should have waited or stuck to the plan or -

“No, no, this is…” they pause and another sniffle escapes them, when they speak again their voice is thick with emotion.

“I love you so much,” they reach up and cup her face, “I love you so much that the words are insufficient. This is perfect, my love. Vhenan. Kadan.” And then they’re kissing her. Their lips are soft and still a bit damp from their lipstick, but she leans into them, her heart aching in the best way possible.

They don’t make it to the restaurant, instead winding up in the bed, naked save for the split dragon tooth. Melarue seems reluctant to let Kass get too far from them, preferring instead to have her completely wrapped up against them, even as they order in food. They rest in the bed, a naked tangle of limbs and love. There are dark purple smudges all over her face and on her neck, kissing her until it seems like all of their lipstick is now on her. It isn’t at all how she had planned for the evening to go, how she expected it, but the best things in life tend to be unexpected. Her leaving the Qun, having Ashokara, meeting Melarue and falling so deeply in love with them that love really is an inadequate term - it wasn’t at all according to plan, but she wouldn’t change a thing because she has never been happier than in this moment, lying in bed naked with Melarue.

Her hand rests over their heart and half of the tooth and she can’t help but feel immensely grateful - for everything.

 

~

 

Melarue wears their clothes and makeup like armor. They adorn themselves in pretty things, shift their features with magic and the quirk of a muscle here and there to hide themselves, to keep parts of themselves secret. 

They are harsh and cunning and quick. There is a hardness to their beauty like this, when they’re in the public eye. Kass watches them from the comfort of their shared hotel room, ensconced in wondrously soft blankets, nibbling on scones. They’re on a morning show giving an interview about their latest movie - a biopic about the first elven surgeon. They’re stunning of course, in a beautiful emerald green tailored suit with tall silver heels. The host cracks a joke and Melarue chuckles in their polite laugh - their shoulders barely move. 

And then the host does something a bit unexpected. She points to the necklace hanging from Melarue’s neck.

“Now, what is this? I have some Vashoth friends who were very interested to know why you’re wearing a necklace of what is called a  _kadan,_ which for the people who don’t know, is a word in qunlat that means ‘place where the heart rests’ - it’s something of a equivalent of the elven term  _vhenan_. It’s a pretty significant thing to be given this, it’s almost like marriage - which then begs the question, are you with someone? Is this that necklace of the  _kadan_? _“_

Kass freezes and Melarue appears to tense a moment before smiling and resting a hand against the split dragon tooth.

“It is a Necklace of the Kadan, yes. Several years ago, I met a Vashoth woman who…we have become quite close and involved and our relationship has progressed to this point.” They say carefully to the audible gasp of the audience. Kass chuckles, shaking her head. They’ll make sure that Kass and Ash are safe from any prying paparazzi, she’s not concerned. Quite frankly, she’s more surprised that no one has brought it up sooner! They’ve been wearing the necklace for months now, and people are now  _just_  realizing this? 

The host plays up how wide her eyes are and this spawns a whole discussion that Melarue deftly maneuvers through on their secret relationship. 

Forty minutes later and the interview is done, Melarue managing only to reveal that they’re dating a Vashoth woman with a daughter and is most definitely not sleeping with those three actors each magazine seems convinced they are. 

It’s another hour before they’re walking into the hotel room, the click-clack of their heels cuing her in to their arrival. She scrambles out of the bed and rights the outfit she’s in - placing her left boob back into its designated push-up cup. She whacks the bed down for crumbs then shoves her feet into the heels she bought specifically for this outfit. This…should go over well, she thinks, they love her body, they make that known as frequently as possible in their kisses and touches and goodness, they way they make love to her - she is certain they’ll like the push-up sheer baby-doll she’s wearing. Maybe not so much the feathery heels, though.

She strides, or tries to stride elegantly, through the suite to the front and poses against the corner right in front of them. 

“Welcome back,” she says in a sultry whisper. 

They stop in their tracks as their eyes track slowly over her body. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” their voice is low and dark and oooh this was a brilliant idea on her part.

Hours later and they lie naked and sweaty in the middle of the bed. There are lipstick smudges and hickeys in discreet areas and she feels absolutely soft and happy. Even better yet is that  _Melarue_  is soft and happy, unmasked, unadorned - just them. She trails her fingers gently over their soft skin and presses another kiss to their shoulder. They hum appreciatively as they turn their head to look at her.

“I am going to buy you ten of those little outfits. Maybe more.” They say and she chuckles, nuzzling her way into the crook of their neck.

“Whatever makes you happy, Kadan. Though I think that one was a smidge too small in the band size, I think I have marks on my back.” They trail a hand down her back and nod.

“I’ll get you custom,” they say absently, leaning against her. 

She sighs and draws her fingers down their body in affection. She doesn’t really know what she did to receive their love, to receive this gift of them, divested of all their masks and disguises, but she is immensely grateful for it, and will cherish it. Cherish them, because they’re worth cherishing and loving. She tries to convey this through touch, finding her words to for once catch in her throat in the lazy mid-morning sun. 

Her darling Melarue, her Kadan.

  
~

 

Ash loves her nanae. And it’s a  _good_  love. It’s not obligatory, they and her Mama made it clear that while Mama loves them, that Ash isn’t required to. Love is a choice. 

And Ash chooses to love her nanae. 

They’re quieter than her father, she thinks. He…she remembers lots of yelling, shouting, angry noises made late at night while he sat in front of the TV. She remembers vaguely the anger, the fear, in his eyes when he looked down at her. 

Dark blue eyes full of anger - of hatred for a six-year-old girl. 

She remembers the pain of of his hand against her face. How her skin had burned immediately and instead of magic that sprang forth, it was tears. 

She remembers how her mama’s skin changed after they left. How she would touch her mama and she wouldn’t flinch, wouldn’t tell her no…

Ash also remembers worrying when her mama began to date Melarue that her skin would change color again and she wouldn’t want to be touched again.

But that didn’t happen. 

And Melarue was  _nice_. They brought her clothes, and they liked her horns, they  _wrapped_  her horns. And Mama  _smiled_  when she looked at them. She touched them eagerly and often, and they returned it in kind, with kisses and touches and hugs. 

They told her she was beautiful, that her horns, her hair, her magic…it was all beautiful. 

Ash loves her nanae. She trusts them, and builds up a healthier idea of what it means to love and to know love by watching them and her mother. 

When she’s fifteen, she hits what the doctors are saying should be her last growth spurt. A spurt that has officially made Nanae the shorted person in the household. Almost all of the height gained is in her legs, and suddenly all of her pants, shorts, skirts, and dresses are entirely too short. 

Nanae takes her out shopping, taking her into stores that she sometimes still marvels at. She can shop here? She…fits here? It’s still a little surprising that she can walk into this store and it be okay; that she can pull on a pair of jeans and know that she can get them if she likes them - and that even if they do fit, she doesn’t have to get them. 

They leave the first store with three new pairs of jeans and two new pairs of shorts. Nanae is insisting on buying her more things and unlike her mother, Ash is very okay with this.

“Can I get new horn chains?”

“Of course,” they reply smoothly, “a reward for acing your statistics exam.” She preens under the praise and walks a little more confidently down the street.

They get lunch from a surprisingly gourmet food truck, planting themselves close to a nearby playground to eat their food. They talk about normal things, school, work, Orlais’s Next Top Model and the new spin-off, Tevinter’s Next Top Model. 

It’s by chance that she glances over at the playground and sees the little Vashoth child sliding down the slide and into his father’s…arms. 

Nanae is saying something, she knows they’re saying something but she can’t hear them. Not over the sudden rush of blood through her ears and body. Her throat closes up and her face burns. 

What is he doing here? They…they’ve moved to a completely different country, Nanae promised that they kept tabs on him. What is he doing here?

“Ash? Ashokara,” they’re saying, taking her hand suddenly, pulling her out of her sudden reverie. 

“I…I…” She stammers and then they’re moving, grabbing their things and her and pulling her away from playground and into a nearby bathroom. 

“Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” they murmur, sitting her down on the toilet. It’s cold. Everything feels cold and her face stings -

Wet, it feels wet now, and weirdly soft. She blinks her eyes open to see her nanae gently dabbing wet paper towels to her face, neck, and hands. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” they repeat, pulling her close to them. She shuts her eyes again and turns her face into their shirt, shuddering as the fear begins to subside. 

She doesn’t know how long it takes before she can speak, or when their hand on her head loosens enough for her to pull away to look up at them.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” they ask softly, trailing a gentle nail down her face.

“You do not have to if you do not wish to.”

“I….” she takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around them more securely.

“I saw him.”

They pause and then their muscles suddenly tense.

“ _Him?”_

_“Him.”  
_

They resume petting her hair and holding her. 

“Nanae?”

“Yes, Apple?”

“Can we go home, please? This bathroom kinda smells,” she says, still pressed up against them. They force a chuckle before stepping just enough away to grab their things. They keep her close when they leave. 

She blinks away the sudden increase in light and -

He’s waiting in line to use the restroom. 

She staggers back, horror and fear returning and her feet suddenly becoming heavier than cement blocks. 

“Apple?”

“Are you okay?”

“Papa, what’s going on?”

Everyone is speaking at the same time and she closes her eyes, trying to make it all stop. Make it all stop. Stop. 

STOP.

She feels her clothes being to smoke and cinder.

“Ashokara, stop.” The voice is clear, deep, commanding. 

Her eyes snap open to see Melarue standing in front of her, looking much…bigger than they actually are she thinks. 

“You are in control. Not the emotion.”

_I am in control._

_I am in control._

I  _am in control._

She drags in a shaky breath and nods. She is in control. Not the magic. Not the fire. Not the emotion. 

“Let’s go home,” their voice stays like that, weirdly commanding as they take her into their car. She curls up against the door of the passenger seat, 

“That was him, Nanae.” She whispers when they’re on the road, trees and buildings becoming blurs as they drive.

“No, it wasn’t,” they reply. 

Wha…how do they know if it was or not?

“I think I’d know -

“Ash, I have seen your father. He is in northern Rivain, living a miserable life as a line cook at a sub-par buffet restaurant. He is nowhere near us. Nowhere near  _you_. The man you saw today is the same height as your father, and wears his hair the same way…and he is the age that you remember your father at, but he was not your father.” 

They glance over at her. Her heart feels as if it has stopped beating or maybe it’s beating so fast she can’t feel it. She doesn’t know. There is a giant lump in her throat, and nausea rolls through her.

 “That…wasn’t him?”

“No. I have made sure that he is away from you and your mother, you are safe, I promise.”

Nanae doesn’t promise many things, but they keep all of them. They promised to love her and her mama, and they do, they haven’t stopped loving them for one moment.

She looks over at them. 

“I…how could I do that? That poor man…his son…”

“It wasn’t your fault, da’len, you were very young when everything happened. This isn’t entirely unexpected.” 

They tell her a few more comforting things, explaining away as to why she did what she did and they even toss in a couple of verifying things about her father that make it even more clear that he isn’t near her, that he can’t hurt her anymore.

But that’s a lie. He does still hurt her. He makes her see his face in other men. He makes her afraid that she will meet a man like him one day.

He still hurts her.

When they get back home, she retires to her room quickly, wanting to be alone. Nanae doesn’t press her and neither does her mother when she gets home from a meeting with her editors. 

She curls up in her bed and tries to remember the man at the park’s face and her father’s face…but she can’t tell the difference. And she hates that. She hates that she can’t differentiate between them. That’s wrong, the man at the park didn’t  _do_  anything! He was having a good time with his son, he wasn’t hurting her or anybody. He wasn’t her father. And yet….

She overhears the hushed conversation between her parents on what happened, hears the horrified intake of breath as her nanae tells the story. 

An hour passes and she thinks there may have been just a bit of a fight or a disagreement when there is a soft knock at the door.

“Baby? Can I come in?” Her mother asks. 

“Yeah.” She answers meekly, lifting herself up from the bed. The door opens and her mother walks in, looking solemn and just a bit worn, carrying an old tin box in her hands.

“Your nanae told me what happened today, and I am so sorry you were so scared. I…I had hoped you had forgotten him, forgotten his face, but…there are some things you do not forget, unfortunately.” 

“Well, I sorta did forget if I thought someone else was him.” Ash argues but it isn’t said with any real strength behind it. 

“I know, which is why I brought this,” she holds the box up, “it’s…pictures of us. Before. He is in a few of them. Do…you wish to see them? to know what he looks like?” 

Her first inclination is to say no, she doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t want anything to do with this man. She doesn’t want to know his name or his favorite color or his face…

His face. 

She remembers the man at the park, how she thought him to blame for everything. Will she do that with every Vashoth man with the right curving horns? with the right hair or smile or build? 

Will she always be afraid of seeing a man she doesn’t even properly remember?

Her nanae appears in the door frame, watching quietly. 

Ash nods, “I…want to know.” 

“Okay.” Her mama takes a seat by her and slowly opens the box, pulling out pictures that Ash recognizes from other photo albums that her mama’s made over the years. 

Her hand stalls as she comes to one and Ash knows her father is in it. Her mama lays the picture out and Ash stares at it.

Her father is…handsome. Beautiful even. His hair was long, done in large white braids that he pulled to the side. His smile was wide, his eyes bright as he smiled at the tiny baby he was holding….

Oh.

She picks the picture up and dissects it - from the bowling alley setting to the coke bottle sitting in the background to the “Bowling World” polo shirt he’s wearing. 

Her heart sinks lower and lower the longer she stares.

“I…look like him,” she whispers.

“Oh honey, no, that’s ridiculous -

“I have his hair, and his ears, and his skin, and his  _smile.”_ No, no, no. She can’t look like him. She can’t. 

In that moment she is overcome with the intense desire to be a shifter like her nanae, to just…make the resemblance go away. She wants to look like her mother, to have her mother’s springy coiled hair, not her father’s looser texture. Not her father’s lopsided grin, but her mother’s broad smile. She wants to have curved ears, not sharply angled ones. 

But she isn’t a shifter, and she looks like her father.

“You look nothing like him. Your smile is completely different, it isn’t marred by anger or hurt, it’s just…pure happiness. And your hair is much prettier - a purer white. And your ears are your nanae’s,” her mother argues.

Ash appreciates the sentiment but…

“How can I look like him….”

“Genetics are fickle things. Sometimes you look like one parent and are just like them. Sometimes you look like them and are nothing like them. And Ash, you are  _nothing_  like him,” her nanae says in the ‘this is not up for debate’ voice. 

She looks up at them and back at the picture. He is her father but he isn’t her papa. Melarue didn’t help make her….but they are her nanae and she loves them.

“Can…can I dye my hair?” She asks softly. 

“Yes,” her nanae replies automatically. Her mama nods and Ash gives them a weak smile before glancing back down at the picture.

She may look like her father…but she is nothing like him. She can choose that, she thinks. She can work at it, because she has the ability to choose, to be better than him and everything that he was…is. 

Ashokara looks back up at her nanae and thinks that it won’t be too hard to choose to not be like him, not when she has them and her mama.

 

~

 

Kass is not a small woman, it takes a lot of alcohol to get her drunk. Usually a bottle and a half of wine and she’s inebriated, but goodness that’s a lot, particularly when she doesn’t even have that much disposable income. So there really is no point in alcohol for the most part while she’s on her own, raising Ash.

And then Melarue enters her life and Mel likes their wine.  Their red red wine that tastes nice, like their lips and –

“I’m drunk,” Kass states in some mild shock as they recline on their newly purchased furniture. Melarue chuckles and brushes their lips, stained red by lipstick and wine, across her cheek.

“Yes, it looks good on you.”

“I  _never_  get drunk,” she informs them.

“And why is that?” They purr and she leans into them. Melarue is so wonderfully cuddly, they wouldn’t really ever  _say_  they’re cuddly, but they’re cuddly, and  _warm_. She nuzzles their jaw and they chuckle at her.

“Because I’m a  _mother_  and I have thiiings to do, important things. And alcohol is expensive especially the stuff that I actually like,” she explains, hands wandering to the front of their blouse, trying to unbutton them so she can just get closer to them.

“Mothers can have fun too, I can think of several fun things you do.” They say and she thinks they’re talking about sex, they hint at sex  _a lot_  but they’re not obsessed, just…they like sex. And she apparently likes sex. Well, sex with them at least because sex with them is good, it’s always good.  _They’re_ good.

“But not when I’m working or actively mothering,” her accent is thick, she knows. Slowly descending into using more Qunlat and she can’t really tell where her Common begins and her Qunlat ends. But they simply pat her horns, gently rubbing the sensitive skin there.

“You’re not working or actively mothering right now,” they point out.

“Yes, and so I can be drunk. I am drunk.” She looks up at them and smiles.

“And you’re pretty.”

They smile softly, “And you are gorgeous.”

“Nooo,  _you’re_ gorgeous!” She teases back, laughing at the old schoolyard routine.

“We’re both gorgeous,” they offer in compromise.

“Okay, but you’re like, way gorgeous’er.” Kass wraps her arms around Mel and a wave of thankfulness flows through her.

“Mmm, love you so much, sooo much,” she murmurs against them.

They kiss her horn and she leans up, smiles, before pressing her lips to theirs. They taste like wine and sweetness and Melarue. A heady blend that has her sighing and melting even more into them.

They push her gently away and cup her face, holding her steady as they look into her eyes, “I love you too, vhenan.” She sighs and they let her kiss them again, kissing her back even,  _with tongue_. Oh wonderful Melarue tongue.

She thinks that maybe she could get drunk more often with her beloved when she’s not working or actively mothering.

 

~

 

Fingers are made for touching. Soft, glancing brushes of a fingertip, flitting against skin like a whisper. Nails digging into a back arched in pleasure, leaving long red marks that say ‘mine’. Warm and steady, palm against palm, walking down a crowded street.

Melarue is used to letting go. The first to let their fingers unlace. It is easier to run. Easier to enjoy the touch in the moment and go before it can linger and fester into attachment. Attachment hurts. Because in the end, no matter how hard they hold on, the other person will let go.

Sometimes the hands leave them voluntarily, letting go because Melarue is not enough and never will be. Because they have never been good at love, and love is what people want.

Sometimes the hands are ripped from them. Death takes and takes and leave Melarue with nothing but shattered pieces and broken memories.

And so they always pull away first, because that is how it has always been.

When Kassaran feels them begin to pull away, her fingers tug, just so, and lace them back together; a reminder that it’s alright to hold on, and that she wants them to.

It is so hard, to love. Because one day, death will come for Kass. Death will rip her from them, so quick and quiet, and their hands will be empty once more. The thought is usually enough to make them pull back, back into themselves and then away, as far as they can go.

But there is nothing more steadying than the warmth of Kass’ hand against their own, and her breath on their neck.

_Let her live a long life. Give me as much time as you can_ , they plead into the darkness.  _Give me that much. Give me that and I will demand no more from you._


End file.
